Storm Warning
by R-I-C-A-R-D
Summary: An OC from a previous fic, Fade To Black, receives an airing and a fleshing-out of her background in this series of shortish chapters. Some canon characters appear as well. Check the notes in the first chapter for full details. Please R & R if you like.
1. Memories

**Author's Note:** A while back I posted story called _Fade To Black_. You may have read it. Aside from Shepard, the story had an OC of mine I called, tongue in cheek, "Hailstorm." This is a series of loosely connected stories intended to give her some more backstory. The timeline is before Mass Effect. Some parts are humour, some not. Some canon characters from Mass Effect may pop in from time to time as well. I'm also taking the chance to play around with different tenses besides past tense. Because past tense is _so_ 2008. :P

**1. Memories**

She remembers the battle, the fighting, in flashes, like an old reel of film that's missing frames and unspooling before her mind's eye.

Now: the briefing and Major Kyle staring blankly into space. Everybody knows Kyle's losing it. Nobody says anything about it. Later, she'll wonder why. For now, she says his name three, four times until he snaps out of whatever funk he's in and begins giving his last orders.

The film shuffles forward a little: she's relaying Kyle's orders to her platoon. They make no sense even to her own ears but Kyle is the officer commanding and to the marines on Torfan, he's practically God.

"Is the old man crazy?" spits one of her platoon.

"It's a goddamn suicide mission!" shouts another.

"Alright! That's enough!" she has to raise her voice to be heard but heard she is. Immediately the troops button up and come to attention.

Now: she's on the ground on Torfan, hunkering down behind some boulders, large, weathered and being chipped away by withering gunfire from the batarians. They're five minutes into the op. Already Burke and Wilson are gone. Hardsuits breached, they died from decompression in the airless atmosphere. There's no time to do more than utter a silent prayer before they're under fire again. She deploys her sniper rifle, leans out just enough to sight in on a batarian footsoldier as he's moving from cover to cover. A shot rings out, the batarian's down. A hand claps her on the shoulder and a voice, Corporal Carver's, gives her a congratulatory word.

Flash forward. How long, she can't know. The doctors who counsel her after the fighting and her subsequent recovery from her physical injuries say it's part of PTSD - post traumatic stress disorder - that her mind is shutting out things it doesn't want to remember. Part of her is grateful. Another part of her brands herself a coward. She _should_ remember the fallen and how they died. They deserve as much.

Now she and Carver are inside the underground bunker deep below the surface. This is the heart of the batarian defensive effort and the scene of the bloodiest fighting. Carver's the closest thing she has left to a platoon sergeant. But then, most of her platoon is dead so maybe it doesn't really matter at this point.

Another leap forward. Aside from Carver, she's on her own. In these tight quarters, her rifle's useless so she fires her sidearm until it overheats. She's in a frenzy now, sight tinged with a red glow, heartbeat pounding in her ears. Combat talon in hand, she stabs a batarian through his cuirass, yanks out the blade and whips it backhand across his throat. The four-eyed alien falls back, gurgling. Her omni-tool bleeps, clamouring for attention. She's calibrated it to signal her every time a new tech mine is ready to go. The mine sails out, catching a four-man fireteam in the blast, rendering their weapons temporarily useless.

Losing all situational awareness, she dives in among the enemy, firing pointblank, blade slashing and stabbing. As the last one falls, she stands amid the bodies, chest heaving as she gasps in air through her suit's O2 system. Despite the air recirculator's best efforts, the air is full of the smell of her own sweat as well as the alien blood she's cloaked in from head to toe.

A distant voice, male and human calls out to her. She can't hear it properly, her ears are ringing with the din of battle and the rushing roar of blood through her veins. Movement in her peripheral vision causes her to wheel around, blade up. A strong hand grabs her by the wrist, twisting the blade aside. With a grunt of effort she slams her helmeted head into the man's face but he holds on regardless. Dimly she's aware of a voice, the same one as before calling her name. Eventually she realises the voice belongs to the man she's trying to stab.

"LT? Come on, snap out of it, dammit!"

"Carver?" her voice feels wrong to her own ears.

"Yeah. They're all dead, LT. You can stand down."

She blinks repeatedly and as the red mist lifts, takes a look around herself. Bodies lie contorted all around her. "Tell me I didn't do that."

Carver shrugs. "I've seen people overtaken by bloodlust before, but damn, LT, that was some mighty fine bladework." Carver sounds impressed and his Southern twang is comforting to her ears.

A thought strikes her, "Where's the rest of the unit?"

Behind the visor, she can see the pain in Carver's eyes. "They didn't make it, Ma'am."

Wearily she slumps to the floor, shaking her head repeatedly in denial. "No...no," she mutters. She doesn't see the lone, critically wounded batarian prime and toss the grenade until it's too late.

For an instant, all is white and heat and searing pain. Then she knows nothing more.

---

**Later**

Bit by bit, Second Lieutenant Hayley "Hailstorm" Storm swam upwards from the depths of unconsciousness. Voices, some near, some far impinged upon her awareness. The voices were human, speaking English. A wave of relief washed over her but for the moment at least, she was unable to recall why that should be important. As the young Marine officer floated in the black, she was able to make out snatches of conversations over the faint ringing in her ears.

"....injuries consistent with a fragmentation grenade. The hardsuit absorbed most of the shrapnel..."

"...sustained some minor hearing loss from the blast. Should be temporary. We'll know more after we can run some tests..."

"_Dr Ross to the OR, Dr Ross to the OR, stat."_

"What's her status?"

"Still unconscious, sir but showing an increase in brain activity. I think she's coming around."

"Notify me when she's able to be debriefed."

"Of course, sir."

The voices faded as she lapsed into a natural sleep. When she awoke again, she found the strength to open her eyes. A harsh white light seemed to stab at her from all directions and her lids slammed shut instinctively, pained tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Squinting through the light, she made out a room. Walls: white. Ceiling: white. The lighting came from fluorescent strips set into the ceiling.

A scent of disinfectant registered and her nose wrinkled in response. From her right she could hear a constant bleeping sound and turned her head in that direction. Even that simple movement cost her: her vision blurred but she made out a bank of monitoring equipment to which she'd been wired. Suddenly, it all came into focus: she was in an infirmary but she couldn't remember how she'd gotten there. Head rolling back to face forward, Hayley ran an inventory. She clenched and unclenched her fists and felt a tugging in the back of her right hand. The IV line that led from the thin metal pole beside the bed, most likely. She wiggled her toes and they responded, if a little sluggishly. That was good - at least she hadn't been paralysed by...whatever it had been.

_A grenade flies towards her and Carver shoves her aside._

"Carver!" she gasped and coughed. Her mouth was almost painfully dry and her voice was hoarse and barely audible. The nurse at the nurse's station just outside the door heard though and arrived on soft-soled shoes. "It's OK, now," the nurse, a tall middle aged woman who looks a bit like her mother said soothingly. Hayley thought the nurse was BSing her but lacked the energy to protest her situation.

"Where am I?" she managed to whisper.

"On the hospital ship, Lieutenant. The SSV_ Sydney."_

Hayley nodded as the nurse walked around the foot of the bed, to check her vitals. The _Sydney _was part of the fleet, the Fifth sent to Torfan in retaliation for the batarian raid on Mindoir. Hayley had heard via scuttlebutt the reports that came out of Mindoir and, sanitised by all the political BS though they were, the reports made what the batarians did to the colony sound horrific. Doubtless the truth was even worse.

"I'll get the doctor, Lieutenant. Don't worry, I'll be right out there," the nurse said, pointing to the station outside.

The doctor, a man of average height and wearing a white coat over an open-throated blue shirt walked briskly into the room. By now, Hayley had come fully around and could feel the dull ache in her right side, arm and leg. She suspected that, without the painkillers they'd no doubt plied her with, she'd be in considerably more pain.

"And how are we today?" the doctor asked that time-honoured queston. From her position on the bed, Hayley could see that his ID badge identified him as Marcus Young MD. A crucifix on a gold chain glittered from the V of skin revealed by his shirt. It twitched back and forth as he moved as though the tiny Jesus there was attempting to get off the cross. For some reason, the thought of a tiny Jesus on the cross struck her as absurdly funny and her chest hitched up and down with silent laughter.

"Where's Corporal Carver?" she eventually asked, voice still hoarse. From the corner of her eye, she saw a tray with a plastic tumbler half filled with water and reached a hand for it. Her hand shook badly before the doctor picked up the tumbler and held it before her parched lips. Gratefully, she sipped some of the cool water through the bendy plastic straw. When she was done, the doctor placed the tumbler back on the tray.

"The Corporal is recovering in another ward," Young answered and Hayley's eyes closed in relief. So, her entire platoon _hadn't_ been shot out from under her. That was sure to please Command, she thought mirthlessly.

"When can I see him?" she asked next. Her responsibility as an officer was to look out for the welfare of her personnel and she meant to do it.

"As soon as you're back to full strength," Dr Young replied smoothly. Hayley thought he might have been lying due to the way he broke eye contact as he spoke.

That was something her brother Julian used to tell her when they were kids, "When you lie to a person, look them in the eye. They think you're telling the truth." The first time she'd tried that, with her mother after accidentally breaking her favourite vase, her mother had seen through it anyway. Hayley smiled a little at the memory. Her family. They must have been freaking out by now.

Hayley inhaled deeply through her nose and asked the question she wasn't sure she wanted an answer to. "How badly am I hurt?"

Dr Young consulted a datapad that he removed from his coat pocket. A standard Aldrin Labs model, Hayley observed. "You're a lucky young woman," Young replied, giving yet another of the medical practitioner's stock answers. Hayley rolled her eyes.

Dr Young ignored this and said, "You were caught in an explosion from a standard fragmentation grenade."

_An M30_ her mind supplied automatically.

"It appears that Corporal Carver threw you aside, out of the worst of the blast radius and your hardsuit absorbed the worst of the damage you did sustain. However, some shrapnel did breach the suit's inner lining and embedded itself in your right arm, leg and chest."

Hayley digested this information calmly though somewhere in the back of her mind, a scared voice was yammering relentlessly.

"Was there any nerve damage?"

"No, and the prognosis is good. We expect you to make a full recovery."

"And this ringing in my ears?"

"Temporary," the doctor replied, slipping the datapad back into his pocket. "As I said, you were very lucky, Lieutenant."

"No. Lucky would be me not losing my whole unit," she said flatly.

"I'll leave you to get some rest and I'll see you on my rounds. If you require any assistance, the call button's by the bedside. The doctor paused, as though he was about to say more than left.

­---

The newsvids, which Hayley watches from her bed call the fighting on Torfan, "A great victory for humanity against the batarians."

A great load of politically correct Alliance-approved BS, thinks Hailstorm.

The news stories all credit the great tactician Major Kyle with orchestrating the battle, anticipating the batarian moves and countering them with _bravery, skill and aplomb. _Not one of the newsvids mentions the losses estimated to be at seventy-five percent. Nor do they make mention of the mental instability of Major Kyle during the latter parts of the assault.

That would ruin the carefully crafted image of the unstoppable forces of humanity beamed back to Earth and the Colonies. _I'm too young to be this cynical_ she tells herself but that doesn't change the truth of things. Kyle's being hailed as a hero and the words _Star of Terra_ begin to be bandied around by armchair military experts and talking heads who sit around endlessly debating things.

"Makes you want to throw up, don't it?" a voice says from the entrance to her room. Hayley is the only occupant of this room though there are empty rows of beds in the ward. At first she thinks it's because she's an officer but they don't waste entire hospital wards on lowly second lieutenants. She thinks it's more likely that the few other survivors of the assault managed to come through relatively unscathed and thus don't need hospitalising. _Lucky lucky me_ she thinks to herself.

Carver stands in the doorway, trying not to let the pain from his own injuries show in his face. His platoon leader seems oddly small and fragile lying on the hospital bed. Her skin, pale and translucent looks washed out under the lights and her straw-blonde hair lies in a ragged halo around her head on the pillow.

A feeling of happiness rises in Hayley and she turns off the vidscreen before turning to see the only other member of her platoon to survive the engagement. Corporal William "Wild Bill" Carver stands in the doorway, wearing a hospital gown, stark white against his black skin. Hayley can't seen any obvious injuries on the man though he limps a bit as he walks to her bedside, favouring his right leg. Now that he's closer, she can see the ridges of scar tissue in his calf muscle.

"How you holdin' up, Ma'am?" he says and salutes. Smiling slightly she touches two fingers to her forehead in response and he falls into parade rest.

"For Godsake, Carver, sit down. You're hurt."

"Not as bad as you. Damn it's good to see you in one piece," Carver says as he carefully lowers himself into the beige seat he's pulled from the corner of the room.

"I understand I have you thank for not dying. Thank you."

Carver shrugs and looks painfully embarrassed. She almost expects him to say, "Shucks, warn't nuthin'"

"So," the lieutenant begins then stops. Her long fingered hands play with a loose thread on the hospital sheet covering her. "Carver, I'm sorry."

"For what?" her rumbles in reply.

"I fucked up," she states flatly. "I completely lost control down there," she gestures outside, "and God only knows how many people died because I wasn't thinking clearly and issuing the correct orders."

"Ma'am, permission to speak plainly?"

_Oh this'll be good._ "Go ahead."

"That's crap, what you're saying. Did you lose situational awareness? Yeah but to me, that looked like the only way to get out alive - to go berserk. But I'm going to lay blame for the whole sorry mess on the heads of the brass in general and Major Kyle in particular."

Hayley smirks, "Haven't you heard? Kyle's a hero and single-handedly saved the galaxy from the evil galactic empire."

Carver chuckles, "Yeah and Santa Claus flies out of my butt every Christmas."

The two Marines laugh together until an irate nurse arrives to escort the Corporal back to his room, admonishing him not to 'wander off.'

---

A couple of days later, a pair of officers in dress uniform arrived to speak to Hailstorm though she didn't know either of them personally. Their uniform jackets were laden with a variety of campaign ribbons and medals. One of them held a slim case in one hand.

"Second Lieutenant Storm, I'm Colonel Riley." _Now _she was able to place the man. Riley was Major Kyle's immediate superior and the officer in command of one of the units on Torfan, the 99th Skulls. "This is my aide, Staff Commander Jensen," Riley nodded to the other man. Tall, sandy-haired and youthful looking. He was the one holding the case.

Unable to stand at attention, Hayley struggled into a sitting position, feeling the plasmid stitches in her side and arm throb and saluted them.  
"At ease," Riley ordered and she lay back again.

"Sirs," she replied.

"We understand your recovery is coming along nicely," Riley spoke. Jensen still hadn't said anything.

"Yes sir," Storm replied. If by _nicely_ they meant _no more blood in her urine._

"I'll be straight with you, Lieutenant," the Colonel went on, voice firm. "Torfan was a clusterfuck of epic proportions, pardon my language. You know it and I know it. Whatever spin the Alliance and politicians decide to put on doesn't change what happened down there. Losses were heavy and the decision has been made to deactivate the 99th at least until we can train more Marines to replenish our units. The Major has been stood down and is undergoing a full psychological assessment."

"Sir, with respect," Storm broke in, unable to remain silent, "If somebody had ordered Kyle to undergo a full psych assessment, none of us would be here now!"

"That's enough, Lieutenant," Jensen finally spoke. _Screw you_ she mentally shot at him.

"No, she has a point. Either way your unit no longer exists. You'll be reassigned pending your full recovery and a psychological evaluation."

Hayley sat half upright in her bed. "You want to psych-eval _me?_"

"Where we're sending you, there's no room for emotional fruitcakes," Jensen put in.

"Given your exemplary service record to date, we're promoting you, effective immediately to First Lieutenant. Congratulations."

Hayley blinked several times in surprise. _What kind of screwed up place is this that I can go off the deep end and come out smelling like roses?_

"Thank you, sir," was all she said. Jensen took a step forward and opened the case. Inside were a set of lieutenant's insignia.

"As for you new assignment, it's a staff position on Arcturus Station. You'll be serving as Admiral Hackett's personal aide," the colonel informed her.

"Not a field assignment, sir?" she protested. "Sir, I feel my combat skills merit more than a desk job-"

"That will be all, Lieutenant," Commander Jensen said smoothly. Hayley's lips compressed into a thin line and she wished she could wipe the look off the man's face.

Colonel Riley inclined his greying head towards her and said, "Good day, First Lieutenant and I wish you a speedy recovery."  
Then the officers turned and left.

A few hours later, having escaped the confines of his ward, Corporal Carver, now wearing an Alliance issue T-shirt and pants hobbled back in. A large case was held in his hands. "I heard the latest scuttlebutt," he said after he saluted.

"Good news travels fast," Storm answered dryly, picking at the bread roll that was part of her lunch.

"You mind if I have the jelly cup?" Carver asked. She cocked an eyebrow at him. "I love that stuff," he confessed. She shrugged and his big hand made the dessert disappear.

"So, they're sending you to Arcturus, huh?" Carver asked between spoonfuls of jelly. The small plastic spoon looked absurdly tiny in the huge Marine's hands. Standing at just over six-four and weighing close to a hundred kilos, all of it muscle, Corporal Carver was still capable of moving with great speed and grace when required.

"Yeah, a desk job babysitting Admiral Hackett. Mister Fifth Fleet himself. God..." she trailed off.

"You think they're punishing you for you performance down there," Carver said and it wasn't a question.

"Part of me thinks I have it coming," she confessed. "Another part of me is pissed off and ready for round two against those four-eyed freaks."

"If it's any consolation, they're sending _me_ to Luna. I get to whip civilians into fighting men and women."

"Lucky you. And no promotion either? You really got the short straw," Storm smiled.

"I've been practicing my drill instructor voice. You want to hear it?"

At her nod of encouragement, he Corporal stood up straight and with chest out and shoulders squared bellowed, "What is your major malfunction, maggot?"

Hayley laughed until her side ached. The nurse at the station, a pretty Asian woman stuck her head in the door and hissed at the Corporal to lower his voice.  
"Sorry, Ma'am," Carver said as he sat back down.

"Don't be. I needed the laugh and the vidscreen here seems permanently tuned to pro-Alliance propaganda channels. I miss my omni-tool. I could over-ride whatever lockout they put on it and find something decent to watch."

"Speaking of," Carver said and reached down to pick up the case he'd arrived with. After shutting the door to the ward to ensure their privacy he presented the case to his officer as though it were a religious relic. Opening it he said, "The teams that went in after the fighting to retrieve our boys and girls came back with these. I called in some old gambling debts and got 'em back for you."

Nestled inside the foam cutouts of the case was a standard issue Hahn-Kedar Kessler sidearm and her combat talon. The edge of the blade gleamed under the striplights.

"Great," she replied, taking the box and slipping it under the sheet where it bulged conspicuously, "Now I can shoot myself in the head if I get bored with playing secretary."

"We couldn't get the omni-tool back," Carver said, "And, from what I've heard, your hardsuit was messed up eight ways from Sunday."

Hayley shrugged. "I won't be needing a hardsuit on Arcturus anyway but thanks. You took a risk getting these back for me. I appreciate it."

The aw shucks look appeared Carver's face again.


	2. The Still Beating Heart

**2. The Still-Beating Heart**

Though she's seen Arcturus station many a time in the vids, Hayley's never been there herself before now. The almost impossibly huge deep-space installation looms ever larger through the viewport as the transport on which she's a passenger nears its destination.

As the headquarters for the human fleets, Arcturus is the most heavily defended outpost humanity possesses and, as such, boasts an impressive number of warships maintaining cover. Tiny dots, the drive flares of fighters flit here and there, past the larger dots that are frigates and cruisers. As the transport angles towards one of the station's immense docking bays, Hayley plays _Name That Ship. _A four-ship wolfpack of Alliance frigates sails past and she quickly checks them off: _Gallipoli, Waterloo, Alamo_ and _Long Tan._

A cruiser in the distance, bearing towards the mass relay opening this sector to the rest of Citadel-controlled space she identifies as SSV _Manhattan_. _Manhattan_ along with the frigate _Agincourt _have seen action in the Syllian Blitz. Glumly Hayley tells herself that they're probably en route to administer another ass kicking to the batarians. Meanwhile she's off to make sure Admiral Hackett's coffee percolator is always full.

---

In the six months since her arrival on Arcturus, First Lieutenant Storm had committed to memory all of Admiral Steven Hackett's likes, dislikes and personality quirks. He liked his coffee black, two sugars and none of that 'artificial sweetener crap' as he put it. "That's my wife's hobbyhorse, Lieutenant, not mine," he'd told her in that gravelly voice of his on her first day on the job. She smiled and nodded. Smiling and nodding gets you far in life, was another of her brother's pearls of wisdom. "You'd love this, Jules," she muttered to herself as she sat behind her desk in the reception area of Hackett's office.

Her staff position entailed that she wore her dress uniform at all times, along with the little peaked cap and take notes at all the meetings, of which there were many, that the Admiral attended. She'd long since become inured to dealing with the generals, admirals and various politicians Hackett dealt with and after the first week she'd stopped being awed by the sheer number of medals amassed by the senior officers. The one thing she was yet to become inured to was that pompous windbag Donnel Udina.

The human ambassador to the Citadel had spent much of the last several months shuttling back and forth between Arcturus and the Citadel on business. Whatever he and Hackett discussed in their closed meetings was well beyond her level of clearance but on one occasion, she'd overheard them mention a "Project Normandy" whilst delivering a tray of coffee and danishes. Her initial instinct was to think, _Normandy sounds like the name of an Alliance frigate_. But she'd heard nothing through official channels and had found nothing on any of the various 'conspiracy whackjob' extranet sites that Hackett had asked her to monitor for signs of subversive activity.

Quite what she was meant to be looking for was never clearly explained. Surely even the most stupid wannabe anarchist wasn't going to post on an extranet message board, along with his manifesto, details of assassination plots against the turian Council member. Still, this Normandy thing played on her mind and she made repeated attempts to find more information, all of which resulted in dead-ends.

While many of the Admiral's meetings were with various Alliance politicians and military personnel, one visitor in particular stuck in Hayley's mind, long after he'd departed. Both she and Hackett had been enjoying a rare moment of solitude between meetings and briefings. Hackett, in his office had been listening to classical music, the strains of a Mozart concerto audible through the door to his office. Hayley, after getting the filing squared away, had been in the midst of composing a letter to home when the door to the outer office slid open with a slight sigh. Hayley looked up and blinked in surprise at the visitor.

Walking towards her with long strides was a tall, imposing turian. His face was painted with white markings; his intense green eyes seeming to scan the entire room for possible threats in mere seconds. Though he was dressed in civilian garb, something about him carried an aura of quiet menace. As though he was so skilled in the arts of war that he felt no need to boast or brag about it. _He looks like he could snap my spine in half with a snap of his fingers,_ Storm thought.

"Admiral Hackett, please," the turian spoke English with barely an accent, his dual-toned voice dancing musically in her ears. Storm didn't need to check her calendar to know the Admiral had no meetings scheduled with turians. She checked anyway, such was the calm assurance in the turian's voice.

"Sir, there's no record of your appointment here," she said apologetically, risking a glance at his eyes.

Placing his three-fingered taloned hands behind his back, the turian replied, "The Admiral will see me regardless."

"Very well. What is your name, sir?"

"Nihlus. Nihlus Kryik."

Curious as to what Hackett's response would be, Hayley pressed the intercom button. "Admiral?"

"Yes?" came the reply. In the background she heard the concerto coming to a crescendo.

"A turian is here to see you. Nihlus Kryik?"

A pause. Then, "Send him straight through, Lieutenant. And Lieutenant?"

"Sir?"

"Take the rest of the day off. This meeting may take some time."

---

Each week, in addition to her usual duties, Storm sent off yet another request for reassignment to Personnel. Each week she received the same response:

First Lieutenant Storm,

Your application for reassignment to a combat unit has been denied.

You are free to reapply for reassignment and any future requests will be duly considered.

Sincerely

Alliance Personnel

In typical bass-ackwards bureaucratic fashion, whoever responded to her requests never specified why they were being denied. Sitting behind her desk one day, struggling to stay awake after one too many late nights filing (oh the excitement, it never ended!) she ran through a mental checklist of reasons why her requests were being denied, each one more implausible than the last:

1. Hackett

was secretly in love with her and wanted her all to himself. Midlife crisis and all that. She smirked and recalled the family photograph on the Admiral's impressively large mahogany desk. He often looked at the picture of himself, wife and children, now adults with a wistul expression. No, he wasn't secretly in love with her.

2. The guy in Personnel, whom she had never met was secretly in love with her and was keeping her here by way of denying her requests for reassignment until he could work up the nerve to actually introduce himself to her. She snorted to herself. She kept to herself mostly. Her long hours chained to the desk left her little time to socialise and she hadn't felt the urge to seek out company in any case. She was a pretty enough girl, at least her mother said she was. But then, a mother is supposed to think her daughter is pretty. Parents are particularly bad at maintaining objectivity about their offspring.

Storm had had a couple of relationships, one, when she was sixteen that she'd term 'serious.' Even at that age, she thought she'd found 'the one' and that they'd be together forever. That had lasted until Eric, at the age of eighteen had been diagnosed with a particularly aggressive variety of cancer and passed after fighting it for six months. Hayley had been gutted. While medical science had found ways to combat most every form of cancer, he'd had the misfortune to develop one that laughed in the face of everything the doctors had thrown at it. Since then, she'd dated on occasion but never allowed herself to become emotionally invested in anybody. After a while, her aloofness led men to tag her with names such as Ice Princess and the like. Hayley found she didn't much care.

The only person she really ever spoke to socially was her room-mate in the junior officers' quarters, First Lieutenant Kylie Cooper who was constantly trying to hook her up with her male officer friends.

"Hayles," Lieutenant Kylie had asked one night as she was preparing to go out, "When was the last time you got laid?"

"Sorry?" Hayley had replied, laying aside the technical manual for the new line of Bluewire omni-tools being rolled out to Alliance units.

Lieutenant Kylie leaned forward, brushing her dark hair aside from her forehead, "Got laid, rocked the casbah, performed the horizontal bop...had it off, you know?"

Disinterestedly, Hayley shrugged. "I forget," she said, feeling irked; what did she care anyway?

"Fuuuuck me sideways. I know this guy..." Lieutenant Kylie began. Hayley got up, left the room and hit the gym for a weight session.

3. Aware of her mini-meltdown slash berserker fury on Torfan, no sane commander would touch her with a fifty foot pole, fearing she'd drill one friendly through the forehead with her sidearm whilst simultaneously making a eunuch of another with her combat talon. The thought of it made her smile, a little sadly. Then she remembered Carver's words: if she _hadn't _lost control she'd probably be dead.

4. Infiltrators were _so _last year, Sentinels were the new black, the combat specialisation du jour. After all, any idiot with opposable thumbs could operate an omni-tool and make the other guy's assault rifle over-heat and his shields go down like a cheerleader in a locker room full of footballers.

But kill people with your brain? That was special. _Yeah_, she thought, _that was it_. Those damn Sentinels: able to lift, throw, stasify as well as hack, decrypt and dispense magic healing powers courtesy of medi-gel hypos. "Bastards," Storm muttered to herself and plucked out a couple of sunflower seeds from the small bowl on her desk. She cracked the seeds between her teeth and dumped the husks in her waste bin. The bottom of which was liberally coated in old sunflower seed husks.

5...."Lieutenant Storm," Hackett's distinctive voice rasped through the small intercom set into her desktop. She pressed a button on the desk, "Sir?"

"Can you come in here for a moment?"

Uh oh. "Sir," was all she said. She closed the link, rose swiftly, adjusted her uniform and crossed to the closed door behind which lay Hackett's sanctum sanctorum, his personal fiefdom.

The door slid open and she stood before the man himself. Hackett, tall and somewhat gaunt-looking rose from his desk - he was old-school like that, she'd noticed, always stood when a lady entered. She saluted and said, "You wanted to see me, Sir?" She would have said, "You requested my presence, O Great Leader?" but thought that was pushing the envelope.

"Captain Donaldson in Personnel contacted me today," the Admiral began.

_So that's the guy's name_

"Apparently you've been requesting reassignment to a combat unit...every week for the past six months. Is that right, Lieutenant?" Somehow, hearing the words come out of the old man's mouth made her feel more than a little stupid.

"Yes sir, that's correct."

"The Captain informs me that you currently hold the station record for the most reassignment requests in the shortest period of time. Tell me, am I that much of an ogre?"

Hayley breathed deeply. "No sir. It's just that when I enlisted, I didn't picture myself..." she paused trying to find the right words. Somehow _being the Admiral's Girl Friday_ didn't seem quite right.

Hackett filled in the blanks, "You saw yourself helping to forge humanity's future in the wider galactic community?" His sharp blue eyes bored steadily into her hazel ones. "Maybe you had less noble reasons and just wanted to blow stuff up and see the galaxy on Alliance's credit?" The Admiral's voice carried no reproach or rancour; he sounded genuinely curious. Hayley figured she was a dead woman.

"Sir," she answered, spine straightening almost by reflex, "My older brother always wanted to serve the Alliance. For pretty much the same reason you just mentioned. The forging of humanity's future, not the blowing up of things. But he failed the medical, congenital heart problem. Four years later, I enlisted. And I did if for him, Sir. For myself as well but I also wanted to make him and the family proud."

"And you feel that organising an old man's diary and taking down minutes is less glorious than armed combat?" Again, the Admiral's dry voice carried no hint of recrimination, he was merely curious. Hayley imagined that the turians had felt much the same way when they first encountered humanity. Right up until the shooting started, at least.

"No...sir," she said. But oh, that was a lie. He knew it and she knew that he knew it. Awkward. She swallowed, fought the urge to shuffle her feet like a child called to the principal's office in school.

The Admiral crossed his hands behind his back, "You know, Hayley," and he spoke her name with a kind of fatherly tone. She doubted he was aware of it. "All Alliance officers do a rotation or two through here during the course of their career. It's not the black mark on the permanent record you seem to feel that it is."

_Wow, he's sharp._

"It's a chance to learn and develop new skills and liaise with the people who do the behind the scenes work, as it were."

Hayley smiled and nodded, nodded and smiled. "Yes, sir," she said through her smile.

"Give it another six months, Lieutenant. Then if you decide it's time to move on, Captain Donaldson will approve that request. Dismissed."

Suppressing a smile of real pleasure, Hayley saluted and left.

Six months? She could do that on her head.

---

The morning it happened began like any other. Hayley paced the small outer office, talking hands free to a guy in Requisitions about the Admiral's coffee deliveries. At the same time she used her omni-tool to update her copy of the Admiral's diary. Her omni linked automatically with both Hackett's forearm mounted interface as well as the desktop unit in his office. At 1000 hours he had an appointment with Captain David Anderson as well as Ambassador Udina. Hackett had informed her to set aside a block of three hours for the meeting during which they were not to be disturbed.

"Even if batarians attack the station?" she'd asked with a small smile.

Hackett returned the smile. "Maybe not."

Captain Anderson _and _Udina? "Big, big fish," she muttered aloud, unaware she was doing it.

"He wants fish now?" Requisitions asked wearily.

"What? No, just thinking out loud here."

"So just the usual delivery then?"

"Better double it. He's been drinking the espresso like water just lately. I don't know how he sleeps."

"Confirmed, we'll dispatch it today." Hayley nodded to herself and clicked off.

That done, she activated her omni-tool and a menu appeared to float around her forearm. She selected the application she called Bug Zapper Version 2.56. Slowly the officer paced off her workspace, the device searching for EMF emissions given off by espionage and covert devices. A sharp _ping_indicated she had something. Lifting a large, heavy painting depicting old blue water navy vessels blowing the bejus out of each other with antique cannon-fire, Hayley found a small, barely visible spot on the wall.

"Nice try," she said to herself. The bug planting was part of the training for intelligence operatives. The goal was to collect as much sensitive data as possible then use said data to show up the Admiral's own security protocols. Hayley scraped the bug away from the wall with a fingernail, placed it on the carpeted floor and ground it underfoot. With an effort, she rehung the painting.

She returned to her desk and checked the status of her firewalls. Again, the boys and girls in Intelligence tested their proteges' abilities to penetrate secure systems. And what could be more secure than humanity's most important deep space facility? Feeling a bit smug, she noted that, although plenty of attempts to breach her security had been made, none had made it through.

Hayley spent perhaps more time than was healthy trawling the extranet in search of counters to the latest viruses and worms and had amassed a hefty collection of both. If she ever made it back to a field position, she'd be ready wreak havoc on hostile encryption protocols, make them cry for their mothers.

Hayley checked her chronometer: 0930. The Captain and Udina would be here in about twenty minutes. Hayley stood and collected a number of thick file folders from her desk. The folders were sealed but were of the type used for personnel records. _Probably looking for people for this 'Normandy Project' whatever the hell that is._

Files in hand, Hayley entered the Admiral's office. He didn't look up from his computer though she could see his face bore a pained expression. _Probably that ulcer of his flaring up_.

Laying the files atop the Admiral's already overflowing in-tray, Hayley turned and left.

At 0950 on the dot, the doorway to the outer office slid open, revealing two middle-aged men. Captain Anderson, dressed in a dark blue Alliance Navy uniform with more medals and ribbons pinned to the breast than Hayley had ever seen on one person, led Ambassador Udina into the room. The Ambassador wore an off-white suit that set off his dark colouring. The two were speaking to one another in low voices though Hayley was able to catch a name: Shepard. Hayley schooled her expression into one of polite detachment.

Behind her eyes, thoughts moved at a rapid pace. Anderson, Udina, Shepard. The only Shepard she knew of was Lieutenant Commander Alison Shepard, the only survivor of the notorious Akuze incident. Fifty-one Marines had landed on that barren little world. Only Shepard had come out. Hayley suppressed a shudder. Threshers. _I hope to God I never live to see one of those much less fight it._

Shepard, an N7, was almost as well regarded in the elite special forces community as Anderson. Whatever the Normandy Project entailed, it was big.

Hayley rose and stood at attention as the two men halted before her desk. Anderson returned the salute. "Lieutenant, we are here for our meeting with Admiral Hackett," he began.

"Yes," Udina put in, "We have much to discuss so kindly inform him that we have arrived."

For the briefest of moments, Storm's eyes locked with Anderson's and something unspoken passed between them:

_What a jerk_

_You think you have it bad? I have to work with the man._

Aloud, all Hayley said was, "I'll let the Admiral know you're here, Sir. Pressing the intercom switch, she said "Admiral Hackett? Ambassador Udina and Captain Anderson are here. Shall I send them in?"

No response. After a few seconds, Hayley tried again, "Sir? The Ambassador and Captain Anderson have arrived."

Still nothing. Unease deepening by the second, Hayley looked up at the Captain. "I'll see if he's ready."

Anderson nodded for her to leave and she walked briskly to his office, pant legs fluttering at her ankles. _You chose a hell of a time to take a catnap, Sir_.

Crossing the threshold, the first thing Hayley saw was the Admiral slumped over his desk, right hand pressing against the left side of his chest, face ashen.

"Oh Christ," Hayley muttered and dashed to his side. With a grunt, Hayley pulled the Admiral out of his seat and laid him on the floor, ripping open his jacket.

Pausing only long enough to trigger her omni-tool's emergency beacon, the Lieutenant commenced chest compressions on the Admiral, praying she wasn't too late.

"Is everything...Udina, find a medic!" Anderson's voice rose to a shout as he ran to to the Admiral. Anderson looked at Storm and said, "I'll take over the compressions until help arrives."

Hayley nodded and exhaled deeply into Hackett's mouth as Anderson kept up the compressions, his arms applying more force than the younger woman would be capable of. "I set off the emergency beacon so they should be here soon. But I don't know how long he's been like this," she gasped between breaths.

As she spoke, she heard running footsteps enter the office. Suddenly, the Admiral's inner sanctum felt very crowded. Beside herself and Anderson, were two medics, a stretcher between them. Each medic carried a bulky kit of emergency supplies. Udina hung back at the office door.

The medics waved her and Anderson aside. "Bag him," one said in clipped professional tones. His partner nodded, securing a mask with a plastic bag attached to it over the Admiral's mouth and nose. Immediately the medic began rhythmically squeezing the bag, forcing more air into Hackett's lungs.

"How long has he been like this?" the other medic barked at Storm.

"He seemed fine when I came in half an hour ago," she replied.

The medic quickly unpacked a portable defibrillator unit from his bag and stripped the plastic backing from the pads through which the electric shocks were delivered.

Pads applied to the Admiral's chest, the medic warned, "Stand clear."

Hackett's body jerked sharply as the shock was administered.

"He's still flatlining," the medic noted, "Again. Clear!" Again Hackett's body jerked. This time, though a incongruously cheerful bleeping sounded from the defibrillator.

"I've got a pulse," the medic with the bag said, clearly relieved. And well he might be, Hayley thought later, nobody would want to have the supreme commander of the Fifth Fleet die on their watch.

---

Hayley isn't at all surprised by the way Hackett's heart attack is reported in the vids that day:

_"Admiral Steven Hackett, commander of the Alliance Navy Fifth Fleet was admitted to the medical facility on Arcturus Station today for a minor procedure. Sources close to the Admiral report that he is in good spirits and soon to make a full recovery."_

"Well, it's true," she says to herself, pouring herself a glass of what the plastic bottle claims is _fresh-squeezed orange juice._ Fresh from the fridge, perhaps.

She has the quarters to herself for the moment, Kylie having left to 'spend quality time' with one of her 'friends with benefits.'

"True if, by _minor procedure_ they mean _he needs a pacemaker_ and by _good spirits_ they really mean _only half-awake._" She shakes her head in bemusement. Hayley realises that telling people Hackett had suffered a heart attack and was actually _dead_ for a brief period would only cause a panic and damage morale so she can understand the lies. _God, I've been here too long. I'm starting to think like one of Them._

A few days later, she rides the Arcturus light rail system to the medical wing, to visit the Admiral. Unable to decide if he'd rather like a bunch of flowers with a get well soon card attached or a fruit basket, she brings one of each. People in the tram give her odd looks when she boards. Hayley smiles and nods.

The ward Hackett is recuperating in is guarded by a pair armed Marines in full combat gear. And not the standard-issue Onyx either, she notes. These two are decked out in Kassa Fabrication's top of the line, if a little garish Colossus heavy. Each one also cradles an assault rifle in his arms but as she nears them, Hayley can see they're also each mounting a pistol, shotgun and sniper rifle. _What are they planning to do? Go skeet shooting and then duck hunting?_

As she approaches them, they shift the position of their rifles. They aren't pointing at her, exactly but they're not _not_ pointing at her either.

"First Lieutenant Storm to see Admiral Hackett. I have a security pass," she says nodding down at the ID on her uniform jacket. It's taken her fully forty-eight hours' worth of dealing with red tape to acquire it.

Unceremoniously, one of the Marines reaches out and yanks the ID from her chest. The force of this causes a button to come undone. The Marine runs the card through a scanner mounted on his left forearm and an indicator lights up green. "You can go in," he says as he hands back the pass.

Hayley thanks the man and pauses in the doorway to pin the badge back and readjust the uniform. It won't do to let the Admiral see her cleavage. Might induce another coronary infarction, she thinks with a smirk.

Hackett lies in the hospital bed surrounded by baskets of flowers and helium-filled balloons bearing various get well soon messages. He sits up when she enters. Hayley finds some free space on a table and lays down her ceremonial offerings. She comes to attention and salutes. "You look much better, sir," she says truthfully. His colour is much better and his chest is rising and falling like it's supposed to do.

"I understand I owe you my life," he says in reply. "The Chinese believe that, when you save a person's life, you become responsible for all the things, good and bad, that they do."

"Yes sir. I'm hoping you won't declare war on anybody and cause me to regret it," she says with a faint smile.

"I hope that won't be necessary, Lieutenant. As soon as the damn doctors let me out of here, I'll arrange for a replacement for you. I'll be sorry to see you go, Hayley."

For a moment, Hayley doesn't understand. The words coming out of his mouth are in English but the sentence doesn't make any sense. "Sir?" she says.

"I assume you'll still be wanting to be reassigned to a combat unit?"

"Ah, yes sir. But it can wait until after you're fully recovered."

Admiral Hackett seems not to have heard her. "Personnel informs me of several openings aboard the _Tokyo_. She's due to arrive for a refit next month. When she leaves, you'll be aboard."

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir."

"No. Thank _you_, Lieutenant."

---

Her new posting aboard the cruiser _SSV_ _Tokyo _put the Lieutenant in command of a four-person fire-team. Personnel files for her new squad members were forwarded along with her new gear. Requisitions was unexpectedly generous, Hayley considered. _Probably fallout from the whole 'help save the Admiral' thing._

Instead of the Aldrin Labs Onyx medium-class hardsuit she wore -and almost died in - on Torfan, the new hardsuit was a higher-quality Hahne-Kedar Mantis medium-class unit. The technical specifications for the suit made for interesting bedside reading: advanced ablative plating for extra protection from mass accelerator fire and a medical exoskeleton designed to monitor the wearer's vital signs and inject controlled doses of medi-gel, coagulants and painkillers as required in the case of, as the notes put it, _operator trauma._

Slung over her shoulder as she made her way to the docking platform where the _Tokyo _had been undergoing its refit was her duffel with her shipboard fatigues and a few personal items. Though Requisitions had issued her a new sidearm and sniper rifle, along with an omni-tool, she elected to keep the old Kessler. Storm felt as though the Kessler was something of a good luck charm though she planned to upgrade the bejesus out of it once she had access to the appropriate upgrade OSDs and omni-gel to manufacture the components.

Approaching from the other direction - away from the _Tokyo _and carrying a duffel of his own over his shoulder was a tall, well built man with bronzed skin and short black hair and sideburns. The insignia on his dress uniform identified him as a slightly more advanced model of lieutenant than herself - Staff Lieutenant. Bringing her duffel to the floor, Hayley came to attention and saluted the other officer.

The man returned the salute and as he spoke to her, she noticed his dark brown eyes. _They look like they've seen a thing or two_.

"I was hoping I could get some directions," he began.

"Where do you need to go, sir?"

"Admiral Hackett's office."

Hayley couldn't help but laugh. "I can give you more than directions, Sir...by the way, I'm Hayley. Hayley Storm," she held her hand out to the older man.

"Kaidan Alenko."

**A/N:**Obviously I have no military experience and probably completely frigged up the whole 'life as Hackett's assistant' thing but if it helps to suspend disbelief just do what I do: say "It's the future and things have changed." As for Heart Attack Hackett, being in charge of an entire fleet must be hard, stressful work plus I imagine he'd be into that age when the heart starts plotting dissent.


	3. Dead Freight Part 1

**3. Dead Freight  
****Part One**

Before she left for the docking bays and her new posting, Storm sat down in an airy atrium near the heart of Arcturus, bathed in artificial sunlight and studied the personnel files for her new squad.

The files gave Lieutenant Storm an unexpected but welcome surprise. One of her squad was Corporal William "Wild Bill" Carver. Fresh from his stint whipping boys and girls into fighting men and women, Carver had been posted to the _Tokyo_. Storm wondered if he yet knew who he'd be serving under. _It'll be nice to see him again, _Storm thought as she read through his file. Carver was the only touchstone that remained of her old life, before Torfan. Well, him and her Kessler. But you couldn't trade scuttlebutt with a handgun. People tended to look at you funny.

Carver's file was all comfortably familiar to her, having served with him before but she absorbed the detail because it was her job.

At thirty-one, Carver was the 'old man' of her squad and had served the Alliance since his enlistment at age eighteen. Carver was an accomplished marksman, having won several awards for his gunnery skills over the years. Proficient with all the basic weapon types utilised by Alliance soldiers, the Corporal was also the designated demolitions expert for her squad, should they encounter anything that needed to disappear in a blast of high-explosive ordnance.

The other two members of her squad were both privates, kids, really having just graduated from boot camp at Fort Bannister on Earth. First shipboard posting, she thought with a frown. She scrolled through their files and saw they were zero G certified so at least they wouldn't embarrass her in front of her new CO by puking before they got used to the _Tokyo's _A-grav system. She remembered her first zero G experience. Having grown up on Earth, she didn't have the benefit of living with zero G like the spacer recruits or some of the kids who came from the Colonies. Storm had blown her lunch roughly five minutes into the acclimatisation exercise.

One of the FNGs, PFC Lucy Wilde was, like the Lieutenant herself, a tech. Though Wilde's training had leaned more heavily to the technical side of combat, giving her the skills required to over-ride the IFF systems of synthetic targets such as combat drones, forcing them to turn on their allies. Wilde was also her squad's designated medic though she was also proficient with a sidearm, having racked up the second-highest gunnery score of her training unit. "Let's see how she does against targets that shoot back," Storm said aloud.

The third and final member of her squad was the surprise packet of the bunch, though she should have seen it coming: she already had a combat and tech specialist, so assigning her a biotic, a Vanguard at that, made sense. With interest, Storm read the information contained on the OSD.

PFC Daniel Saunders, eighteen, had been exposed to eezo whilst in utero - as had all human biotics, to date. He began manifesting minor biotic abilities at a young age - the file said he was levitating his teddy bear at the age of five. At sixteen, he underwent the surgery required to implant an L3 bioamp and began the training required to achieve conscious control of his abilities and to use them in combat.

The portion of the file relating to Saunders' biotics ended with a summary of his 'powers' - he was able to generate mass effect fields to throw, lift and 'warp' enemies as well as use a biotic barrier to increase his defenses. Somewhere along the line, he'd gained the ability to create a singularity - which sounded a lot like a black hole to Storm. From what little she knew of biotic soldiers, the singularity was an advanced technique that usually only Adepts could master.

"Use the Force, Luke," she intoned with a smile.

In addition to the biotics, Saunders was especially skilled in close assault tactics, preferring a shotgun in combat and had trained heavily with medium-weight hardsuits.

Finished with the personnel files, she turned her attention to her squad's equipment loadouts. And blew out an exasperated breath - what was with Procurement and Aldrin Labs? The marketing pap described Aldrin Labs hardsuits as 'the affordable alternative to more exclusive models.'

Had the nimrods in charge of securing supply contracts not _worn_ the Onyx whilst being shot at? Clearly not. Though Storm carried little hope of success, first chance she got, she was going to speak to the _Tokyo's_ quartermaster and acquire improved gear for her troops. If it came down to it, she'd pay for it out of her own pocket.

Storm's private dream was to own her very Armax Arsenal Predator X hardsuit. Supplied to elite turian units, Armax gear was right up there in terms of quality - and price with firms like Kassa. She sighed wistfully. One day. Collecting her duffel, the Lieutenant walked briskly to the docking bays and the first day of the rest of her life.

---

Her orders are to report immediately to the _Tokyo's_ CO, Captain Anna Montgomery. 'Monty' to her friends and 'Iron Bitch' to most of her subordinates, Montgomery is everything the Alliance looks for in an officer - calm under pressure, doggedly steadfast, determined and true to the ideals of the Systems Alliance.

Once through the airlock and the decontamination system - the fine lemon-scented mist always makes Storm sneeze - Hayley makes a beeline for the first superior officer she sees, returning salutes from the crew as she goes.

"First Lieutenant Storm. Can you direct me to the Captain's quarters, sir?" she asks a tall man of Asian descent who bears the rank of Staff Commander.

The Commander returns her salute and replies, "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. The Captain said to show you to her as soon as you arrived. Please follow me. _Tokyo's_ a bigger ship on the inside than she looks and she's easy to get lost in."

"Thank you sir," Hayley replies. Getting lost on the ship en route to see her CO? Yeah, _not_ a good look.

Commander Sumitomo isn't kidding when he says the ship's easy to get lost in. Hayley doesn't think she'll be able to find her way back on her own. Luckily, Sumitomo sees the look of concern in her eyes and uploads the floor-plans to her omni. "If you get lost, just scream. We'll find you eventually," he says with a smile and leaves her alone before Montgomery's office door.

Hayley takes a deep breath, makes sure her uniform is in order and that her blonde hair is pinned up in the regulation bun behind her head. She presses the door button and a tone sounds from the room beyond.

"Enter," a contralto voice replies and she steps across the threshold.

The Captain's office bears little in the way of ornamentation - a rug that looks handmade covering the gunmetal grey decking, a polished wooden desk with a computer and in/out trays cast in black plastic. The only other decoration is a clipper ship in a large bottle that sits on a shelf on the portside bulkhead. Hayley's always wondered how you get the ship in the bottle. Now isn't the time to ask.

Standing behind the desk is Captain Montgomery. A tall woman, she overtops Hayley's height of 175cm by at least five and appears well muscled yet feminine beneath her uniform. Her greying black hair is pulled back from her face, giving her a taut expression, as though the skin over her forehead and cheekbones is being pulled back too far.

Coming to attention, Storm salutes the captain and falls into parade rest. The captain gestures to a comfortably padded seat before her desk and Hayley sits, maintaining a straight-backed posture. The captain resumes her seat and folds her hands before her on her desk blotter.

When Montgomery speaks, her grey eyes gaze at the Lieutenant steadily. "The reason I called you in, Lieutenant..."  
_Óh here we go,_ thinks Hayley, _she wants to make sure I won't snap and kill her in her sleep. She doesn't need to worry. After all, she isn't batarian._

"I've read your file, Storm and I'd like the version of events on Torfan from somebody who was actually there. Not the fantasy-land rainbow and lollipops version the politicians prefer."

"Ma'am," Storm replies carefully. Her throat's suddenly dry; Hayley doesn't want to talk about this. She's been through this already with the bespectacled counsellor back on the _Sydney_. Then her brother's voice whispers encouragement into her mind, _Hayles, the sooner you bite the bullet, the easier it'll be for you. Sis, you're stronger than you give yourself credit for._ Julian's always doing that, seeing the better parts of her and holding them up for her to see.

With a start, Hayley realises it's been close to thirty seconds and she still hasn't said anything besides "Ma'am." Montgomery looks at her expectantly but says nothing.

Inhaling sharply through her nostrils and catching the faint odour of the Captain's talcum powder, she says, "Captain, Torfan was a disaster for us from the moment we made planet-fall. It was as close to a near-total rout for our side as I've ever seen. If the batarians had held out just a little longer, pushed us just a little harder..." she trails off. When she resumes speaking, she says, "Are you familiar with Gallipoli during the First World War, Ma'am?" and she feels just a little stupid, asking her CO to take a history lesson but Montgomery merely nods.

"The British High Command made an absolute mess of the landings and the Australian and New Zealand troops died in droves because of it but they kept fighting even though the Turkish defenders were better armed. Eventually it got so that the Turks respected the Anzacs for their bravery and determination. Torfan was like that, Ma'am. Except the batarians won't be respecting us for anything. I understand we needed to stand up and bloody the noses of the big scary aliens after the Blitz but part of me wonders what we truly accomplished. If anything." _Nice one, Hayles. Why don't you go on and commit high treason while you're at it?_

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," she says after a second. "It isn't my place to second guess command decisions."

The Captain surprises her saying, "Actually, Lieutenant, it's a quality I look for in my officers - knowing when to question orders and call bunk on bad decisions. I trust you'll do the same to me, if it comes to that."

Hayley blinks a few times. "Yes, Ma'am. Though I doubt the Captain will give me reason to second guess her."

Montgomery smiles at this and rises from her desk. Taking this as a cue to leave, Storm also rises. The Captain shakes her hand and says, "We ship out at 0800. Get your gear squared away and take a tour of the ship. Your shipboard duties will begin tomorrow. You'll be serving under our chief Engineer, Staff Lieutenant Michaels. See him for your assignments. Welcome aboard the _Tokyo_, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am."

---

"I heard she single-handedly killed an entire batarian squad. Bare handed," PFC Saunders told Wilde as the two of them hung out in the mess. Wilde and Saunders had come up through basic together and were close friends. Sometimes Wilde caught Saunders looking at her _that way_ and knew he'd like to be more than friends. _Sorry guy, ain't gonna happen. This girl plans to go through OCS and doesn't need no jilted ex-lover screwing her over._

"Yeah?" Wilde replied, eye brows raised. "_I _heard she's ten foot tall and breathes fire!" Shaking her head she opened her omni-tool's interface. "I've been working on this damn decryption algorithm for days and I still can't get it to work."

Saunders, undaunted by Wilde's attitude, pressed on, changing tack, "I saw her when she was wandering around in the drop bay, damn she's hot! I mean, her face isn't drop-dead gorgeous like a model or nothing but the way she walks? Her ass? Hooee!"

"Saunders, you make me sick sometimes, you goddamn degenerate!" Wilde broke off as booted footfalls entered the room. Wilde looked up and gasped slightly, for before them was their squad leader, whom had probably just over-heard Saunders practically drooling over her. "Ma'am!" she quickly snapped to attention and saluted.

"Oh please," the First Lieutenant began, voice dry, "Don't stop talking about me behind my back on my account."

Wilde gulped and Saunders stared down at the floor, colour rising in his cheeks. "Sorry, Ma'am," he replied in a small voice.

"PFC Saunders, while I appreciate your admiration of my physical qualities, I'd advise you to keep such things to yourself in case the Captain should over-hear you. I'd hate for somebody with a promising career to end up being drummed out for harassment. Are we clear?"

Saunders stiffened and heard his spine crackle."Ma'am! Yes, Ma'am!"

"At ease, children," Storm said and crossed to the meal dispenser on the bulkhead nearby. "What's good to eat?"

"I'd steer well clear of the lasagna, Ma'am," a deep bass spoke from behind her.

"Carver?" Storm whirled around and saw the huge man enter the room. Something in her voice made both Wilde and Saunders give both the LT and Corporal a look before they glanced at each other knowingly. _The LT and the corporal? Nah. Maybe?_

"The same," Carver replied. "If I may be so bold, it's damn good to see you again, Ma'am."

"And you, Corporal, and you."

Making her selection of shepherd's pie, Storm sat at the mess table and signalled her squad-mates to sit as well. Storm took a bite of the pie and grimaced. "The hell? I thought this was shepherd's pie?"

"Well, there's shepherd's pie and there's the _Tokyo's_version of shepherd's pie," Saunders said cheerfully, struggling mightily to keep his gaze off the LT's chestal area. "And the two ain't really the same thing."

"I didn't think it was possible to miss Arcturus' food but I think I am."

"So, LT," Saunders began and Wilde could tell, even before he said it that he was going to bring up Torfan. _Don't do it, you moron, just don't._

"What was it like on Torfan? _Ow!_" he whined as Wilde kicked him in the ankle, hard.

Storm leaned forward, eyes boring into Saunders' "It was hell, Private. That's a word that gets thrown around a lot these days but as far as Torfan goes, it fully applies. And before when you mentioned me killing a squad bare-handed? It was actually a combination of tech mines, my sidearm and a combat talon. That being said, I'll thank you never to mention that particular chapter of our race's proud history again while in my presence," she said, voice dropping to a whisper and forcing them all to lean in to hear her.

Saunders looked away from the LT's flat gaze with an inward shudder. _I don't want to see her when she's really upset_ he told himself. "Yes, Ma'am," he replied lamely.

Leaning back in her seat, Storm pushed the plate of faux shepherd's pie away and wasn't a bit surprised when Carver slid it in front of himself and hoed into it with gusto

"You really have no functional taste buds at all, do you, Bill?" she asked. Turning to Wilde, she said, "You mentioned a decryption protocol, Wilde?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"May I?" Storm held out her left hand, palm up.

Wilde passed an OSD to her squad leader and came around to her side of the table to see what she'd do with it. "Try it now," Storm said after tapping a string of code into her omni-tool.

Taking back the OSD, Wilde ran the protocol and saw it worked perfectly. "How did you..?"

"Don't rely too heavily on standard Alliance decryption algorithms. I pulled that from the 'net, reverse engineered some hacker's coding."

"Thanks, Ma'am," Wilde answered, shutting down the omni-tool.

"Well boys and girls, I'd love to stay and chat but I think I'll catch some rack time," the Lieutenant said and left. Carver and Wilde nodded as she walked out of the mess. Saunders eyed the roll and sway of her hips with a slight smile. Wilde caught him looking and punched him in the shoulder.

---

The first several months of life aboard the _Tokyo_ are perfectly routine. _Tokyo's _patrol route takes it past a number of stable human-settled worlds such as Eden Prime as well as through the livelier areas of Citadel space like the Attican Traverse. On more than one occasion, _Tokyo_ encounters pirate or mercenary vessels whose crews don't have the sense to flee an Alliance cruiser.

On the first such incident, Storm is finishing up a diagnostics pattern on a sensor display in the CIC when the operator beside her says, "Contact! Bearing 0923, distance twenty-five thousands klicks." After a flutter inputs, the operator continues, "Modified Kowloon-class freighter mounting a pair of disruptor torpedo launchers. She's turning about, sir!" he informs Commander Sumitomo, who has the deck at the moment. Hayley steps to one side to observe the engagement unfold.

"They're actually trying to line up a shot? On a cruiser?" Sumitomo sounds amused. Then his tone is all business as he barks orders. "Weapons, give me a firing solution, helm, turn us about to minimise our targeting profile."

The orders are acknowledged and Hayley feels the ship move beneath her as the helmsman brings the bow of the cruiser around to avoid taking a shot to the flank.

"Firing solution acquired!" the weapons officer reports, her voice betraying her excitement. It's her first assignment since graduating and she's about to have her live-fire cherry popped.

Sumitomo nods once and says, "Fire at will."

A gentle touch of fingertips on the holographic interface before her and Serviceman First Class Banks pulls the trigger, unleashing a hyper-velocity round from _Tokyo's_ main gun. Within moments, the shot hits home, punching through the modified freighter.

When she speaks again, Banks' tone is subdued. A touch of a lighted panel and she's killed a shipful of people. True, they weren't good guys and would have died pretty much instantly but still...they probably had families, kids..."Kill confirmed," she reports, voice leaden.

"Well done people, stand down."

As she leaves the CIC to return to engineering, Hayley passes by the weapons officer, gives her a brief squeeze on her shoulder as she goes. Banks nods gratefully. For a jarhead, the new LT isn't a bad sort, she decides.

---

In the cruiser's well equipped gymnasium, Storm pounded along on a treadmill, the holodisplay before her unspooling a path through a rain forest. The illusion's all but perfect and, if not for the earphones piping jazz, Storm would be able to hear bird-calls and the rustling of leaves as she ran through the 'forest.'

Though Storm was in better condition since before Arcturus, after a while a stitch settled into her left side and she tapped the controls on the treadmill, gearing down from a run to a fast walk. Beside her, a large form began to pound along, mouth set in a grim line. Storm turned to see Carver and nodded a greeting.

He and Storm had been spending a lot of time together since fate again threw them together. The Lieutenant and the Corporal. The PFC and the PFC. Like a pair of odd couples. Part of her knew that the Corporal bore more than a fondness for her and she was always careful not to lead him on in any way. She liked him, yes. Admired him, yes but it would be an abuse of her position as a commissioned officer to pursue any kind of liaison with one of her soldiers. Still, she'd catch him coming out of the locker room on occasion and wonder what his skin would feel like if she were to run her hands over it. _Don't you even go there you idiot!_ she berated herself.

Then there was Saunders who was obviously infatuated with Wilde who was either completely oblivious to it or just acted like she was. Sometimes, the tension between them was palpable. On more than one occasion, Storm had to fight down an urge to scream, "Just sleep together and have done with it!" After all, neither of them were officers, they were both the same age and it wasn't like there were no lights out shenanigans going on between members of the other squads aboard.

Finished with her workout, Storm stepped off the treadmill and shut down the forest scenery. As she turned to leave the gym, towel around her shoulders, Carver said, "Ma'am?"  
And she could hear the change in his voice. _Oh Bill, no._

"Corporal?" she replied, all formal. _Too late_.

"I was wondering if you'd care for a drink next time we get leave?"

And there it was. Storm tried mightily but could not remember the last time she'd been on a date. Much less the last time she'd enjoyed intimacies with a man.

Storm wiped her forehead with the end of her towel, trying to buy herself more time. "Corporal, just so we're clear, any drinks I may or may not let you buy for me are strictly between two soldiers who've seen some shit together and enjoy a mutual respect and admiration. Is that going to be a problem?" she said and regretted the edge to her words and the slight wince that passed across his face. If she hadn't known him so well, she'd not have seen it at all.

"Yes Ma'am," he replied neutrally.

"I'm sorry, Bill," she said, gently.

"No Ma'am. It's all right. But I'd never forgive myself for not at least having the guts to try. You know?"

"Yeah. I know." and just like that, it's fine between them again. "Come on," she said, "I hear the XO's setting up another poker game tonight. Want to help me clean him out?"

Carver smiled and nodded.

---

The ship floating in space was derelict, drive flare long since extinguished and the _Tokyo'_s scanners almost didn't pick it up. But a sharp-eyed sensor operator increased magnification and saw the Kowloon class ship with the words _Sarah's Pride_ on the side drifting aimlessly through a little nothing of a system near the Perseus Veil.

Privately, the Veil gave Serviceman Second Class Scott the heebie-jeebies. Everybody knew that, after forcing the quarians to flee their own planet, the geth had retreated beyond the Veil and, to the best of anyone's knowledge they hadn't been heard from since. But occasionally, freighters would turn up floating dead in space with nobody at all aboard and he'd wonder...

"Captain," he called out to the Iron Bitch, in her seat in the centre of the CIC.

"What do you have, Mister Scott?" she spoke in clipped tones.

"There's a freighter here, Kowloon class. No energy signature or emissions of any kind."

"Put it on screen," the Iron Bitch ordered and on the holoscreen, an enlarged image of _Sarah's Pride _appeared. Silently the Captain, along with the rest of the CIC staff contemplated it.

"What do you think, Commander?" Montgomery asked her XO.

"The life support system's probably offline and has been for a while," Sumitomo replied, rubbing a hand along his clean-shaven jaw. "Still, protocol is clear."

"Agreed." The Captain addressed the crew through the PA system, "First Lieutenant Storm report to the CIC. That is all."

Storm looked up from the vid-recorder as the Captain called her. She'd been in the midst of composing a message to home. "Ah geeze. Mum, Dad, I gotta go save the world. Say hi to Gran for me. Love you," she said cheerfully and shut off the holo-recorder. She smiled in amusement at the thought of the Captain's address making it into the audio file. They'd be talking about that for days.

Pausing only to stow the vidplayer in her footlocker, Storm left the junior officers' quarters. As she went, First Lieutenant Baxter called out, "Hey, don't forget you owe me that thousand credits from our poker game!"

"Don't remind me," she grumbled. She was terrible at bluffing. Her right eye would begin twitching uncontrollably whenever she had a bad hand.

"First Lieutenant Storm, reporting as ordered, Captain!" she announced as she stepped into the CIC. Immediately she saw the image still onscreen - _Sarah's Pride_ floating dead in space.

"Storm. I want you and your squad to suit up and board the freighter here," Montgomery nodded to the display. "Check for survivors. Otherwise, download the logs and report back. Dismissed"

Storm snapped off a salute and replied, "Aye aye."

As she wheeled around to leave, Montgomery said, "Helm, bring us in to dock with the freighter."

"Aye."

She found Saunders and Wilde, inseparable as always in the drop bay, playing a game of one on one basketball. Saunders was taller and had better reach but Wilde was faster on her feet and had breasts. It wasn't really fair of her to wear those tight tank tops, Storm thought with a smile as Wilde darted around Saunders and drove to the basket. The ball left her hand and sailed through the net with a whisk sound.

"She shoots, she scores and it's _goood!"_ Wilde called out.

"Saunders, Wilde. Suit up and report to the airlock in ten. We're up," Storm called out. The Marines nodded and left to gear up. Storm removed her comm unit and keyed Carver. "Carver."

"LT?"

"Montgomery wants us to board and investigate a freighter that's turned up. Suit and up and report to the airlock."

"Ma'am," he replied and they clicked off.

Aside from the regular drills, Storm hadn't seen action since a short skirmish three months earlier when her unit and two other squads had been dropped onto an asteroid and tasked with eliminating the pirate outpost Intelligence had said was there. To everybody's surprise, Intel had actually been on the ball for a change.

Now, Storm keyed open her locker and removed her Mantis suit. Quickly stripping off her fatigues, she sealed the hardsuit around her and donned the helmet. The diagnostics reported she had full suit integrity and her O2 supplies were at one hundred percent. She clipped her heavily modified Kessler to her hip, eschewing the sniper rifle entirely. Too cramped aboard a freighter to be of any use.

On her way to the airlock on the main deck, Storm activated her omni-tool, keying up the schematics of a Kowloon-class vessel and beamed them to her squad mates.

By the time she arrived, the other three Marines were ready to go, imposing in their armour. Despite her best efforts, Storm hadn't been able to get the quartermaster to budge on her squad's loadouts. She had even briefly considered employing her long-unused feminine charms in the hopes the man would think with his dick long enough for her to get her way but decided not to lower herself to that level.

Instead she had made good use of the fabricator unit in the _Tokyo's_ drop bay and manufactured the best upgrades for her squad that she could. Energised plating and medical computers all around. Saunders had looked at her like she was a goddess come from heaven.

"All right, people. This one's by the numbers. You all have the schematics uploaded to your computers so try not to get lost. Our orders are to locate survivors and secure the system logs."

"Aye aye," her team replied.

**A/N** Originally, this was meant to be one whole chapter but I felt it was too long to post all at once so I pulled a Tarantino and will publish the second part soon.


	4. Dead Freight Part 2

**4. Dead Freight  
****Part Two**

The helmsman expertly guided the cruiser to the freighter, lining up the airlocks and extending a short docking umbilicus through which the squad would enter the freighter.

Standing before the outer airlock of _Sarah's_ _Pride_, Storm interfaced with the ship's VI and was faintly surprised that enough back-up power remained to power it.

"The VI reports the atmo aboard has been purged."

"Great," Saunders deadpanned, "We get to play _find the corpse._"

"Hey," Wilde jested, "Maybe you'll finally get lucky!"

"Can it, Marines," Carver admonished them.

"Opening the airlock now," Storm reported for the benefit of the combat log of the mission generated by her hardsuit computer. The airlock sighed open and the four soldiers crossed the line from _Tokyo_ to_ Sarah's Pride_. Main power was offline and the interior of the ship was lit only by red-glowing emergency lights, powered by a long-term battery system. Storm's helmet-mounted light clicked on, illuminating the dull grey bulkheads with a cone of white light.

Wilde cocked her head to one side, as though listening to something. _Murder. Death. Kill._ Wilde jerked and gasped, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Carver rumbled.

"The only thing_ I_ hear is the sound of my O2 slowly being used up while we stand here with our thumbs up our asses!" Saunders griped.

Ignoring him entirely, Storm addressed Wilde, "What did you hear?"

Wilde shook her head as if to clear it. "I...I _thought_ I heard a voice. But it sounded like it came from inside my own head."

Saunders turned his helmet to Wilde. "Girl, you better not be cracking up."

Wilde spat back at him, "Fuck you!"

"Enough!" Storm barked. Oh this would look great at the debriefing. "Wilde, stay here and cover our rear, the rest of us will check the ship."

"Ma'am, I'd much prefer to come along," Wilde said firmly. Storm looked into the younger woman's eyes. Whatever had spooked her earlier seemed to have passed. Wilde's dark brown eyes conveyed strength and confidence. Storm nodded.

"All right. Wilde, Saunders, take the crew quarters and mess. Carver and I will check the rest of this deck. Sound off as soon as you find anything. Anything at all."

"Ma'am," Wilde replied and she and Saunders left. Storm and Carver entered the short corridor and turned right, towards the med-bay.

---

Wilde and Saunders headed towards the crew quarters, Wilde's mouth set in a grim line. She could still hear the voice, alien yet oddly familiar echoing in her mind. Trying to find something to focus on, she called up a small map display on the inside of her helmet and eyed the little blips representing herself and Saunders as they moved. Better. Slightly.

The door to the crew quarters surrendered to the standard Alliance decrypting algorithm that Wilde employed without being consciously aware of it. This whole ship felt off-centre. Wrong, somehow. Why did nobody else feel it? Panning slowly from left to right, Wilde's helmet lamp revealed rows of empty bunks, each one neatly made, sheets taut enough to bounce a credit chip off. At the foot of each bunk sat a footlocker. The room was empty of people.

"Oh hey, _niiiice_," Saunders said as he crossed to the portside bulkhead. Affixed to the metal wall between two bunks was the centrefold from a girlie magazine. Miss July pouted at them from the glossy poster, giving them a come hither look. Saunders reached out to pull it down. Wilde gripped his wrist, hard.

"What?"

"Leave it," she hissed.

"Jealous much?" he teased. Wilde thrust his arm away and turned her back as she keyed the LT.

---

"Do you think Wilde's OK?" Carver asked as they walked slowly along the hall. The ship was completely silent, not even the background hum of power that Storm never noticed until it was gone.

"I don't know," she replied, shining her light here and there. "I think she's just a bit rattled. A ship floating dead in space, atmosphere vented? Hell, I'm not surprised she finds it morbid and creepifying."

"But voices, LT?"

"I'll have a word with the doc when we get back," Storm said as she hit the release for the door leading to the medbay. The body sat, head thrown back in a swivel chair beside the examination benches. A bug-eyed look of near-absolute horror had overtaken the man. In the harsh light from her headlamp, Storm could see that the man, likely the medic judging by the blood-soaked white coat, had cut his own throat from ear to ear. The injury looked like a red gaping mouth below his jawline. Clutched in his right hand was a bloodied scalpel.

"Jesus," Storm muttered and, though she'd never been particularly religious, felt compelled to make the sign of the cross as she stood in the doorway. Hand on the butt of her sidearm, Storm entered the medbay, Carver behind her. Storm crossed to the body in the chair. Blood, long since dried had formed a wide pool around the swivel chair and the soles of the man's shoes looked as though they'd been pasted onto the floor by the blood.

"Lieutenant Storm? Wilde," the younger soldier's voice spoke into her earpiece. Storm started slightly.

"Go ahead."

"Crew quarters are clear. We're heading for the mess."

"Acknowledged. We've found the medic. Cut his own throat," Storm reported, wondering what had caused him to do that and what he'd seen to leave that look in his face.

There was the briefest of pauses and when Wilde spoke again, her voice shook slightly, "God."

Wilde clicked off and the lieutenant and corporal left for the captain's cabin. If anything, what lay behind the closed door was even worse then the sight that had greeted them in mebay. The captain sat behind his desk, sidearm held tightly in his right hand. The shot had been fired beneath the man's jaw and the top of his head had been blown off, splattering the surrounding wall and ceiling with blood, brain matter and bone fragments.

This time it was Carver who whispered, "Jesus."

Storm was overtaken by an instant of gallows humour and said, mouth dry, "Working conditions here must have been _really_ bad."

"Yeah," Carver said and nodded vigorously. He was used to death, had spent his entire adult life dispensing it on various worlds but this was different. These people hadn't died fighting a war. They'd taken their own lives in as brutal a fashion as they could. The medic, for instance could have taken an overdose of drugs and gone out peacefully. Instead he'd performed a final act of surgery. On himself.

Storm keyed her comm, it was time to report to her higher power. "Storm to _Tokyo,_ request permission to speak with _Tokyo_ Actual," she told the comm officer.

"What's your status, Lieutenant?" Captain Montgomery's voice sounded oddly soothing in her ear. Whatever was happening here, Montgomery had likely seen it before.

"Ma'am, we've located the freighter's captain and medic. They're both dead. Suicides." _Or something wanted it to look like suicide_.

A pause. Then, "The rest of the crew?"

"I'll check with Privates Wilde and Saunders, Ma'am."

"I'll keep the line open. And Lieutenant?"

"Ma'am?"

"You're doing well."

"Wilde, Saunders?" Storm asked.

It was Saunders who replied, "Ma'am, we're in the mess. Found the crew. What's that word that means like suffocation?"

"Asphyxiation?" Storm replied.

"Yeah. I think the crew asphyxiated themselves. Skin and lips're all blue."

"Ma'am," Wilde put in, "I've interfaced with the VI. Says the crew deliberately over-rode safety protocols and purged the O2 supplies into space."

"They just sat there and suffocated?" Carver sounded ill.

"Yeah," Saunders said, sounding defeated.

"You getting all this, Captain?" Storm addressed _Tokyo_.

"I am. Get your crew together and finish sweeping the ship. I want logs, Lieutenant. Bring me that ship's VI core."

"On it," Storm said and closed the link to the cruiser. "Wilde, Saunders, meet us at the airlock, five minutes."

Back at airlock, Storm led the squad forward, to the bridge. Mercifully, the pilots' seats as well as the engineers' positions were empty of corpses. Storm nodded to Wilde, "Download the logs."

"Ma'am," the younger woman ground out. _Murder. Death. Kill_. "Oh!" Wilde gasped.

"Lucy?" Saunders asked, his usual gently mocking tone gone, concern etched in his features.

"I'm fine," she waved him off and sat before a console. Quickly, she used her omni-tool to interface with the VI who tried to deny her access to the logs. _Eat this, _Wilde mouthed to herself and tapped in the code the LT had given her earlier. Immediately the lock-out fell flat and Wilde began copying the files to an OSD. As the download indicator ticked along, she skimmed the files.

"This makes no sense," she said and looked up at the LT as she came around to peer over her shoulder.

"Huh," the LT said. "Looks like some kind of machine code but I've never seen it before. And looks like large portions of the logs are missing."

"Maybe Alice can do something with it?" Saunders suggested. He looked at Wilde's back as he spoke. _I hope to God she's all right_. Alice was what the crew had dubbed the cruiser's VI. Storm had another name for her: Stuck-up Bitch. Something about the tone of Alice's synthesised British accent rubbed her up the wrong way.

"Couldn't hurt to let her tackle it," Storm said as Wilde ejected the OSD and passed it to her.

"We done now, LT?" Wilde said and tried to keep the hopefulness out of her voice. She wanted off this ship _now._

"We'll take a quick tour of the cargo hold, make sure we're not sitting on any more surprises."

Wilde nodded, eyes closed.

---

The door to the cargo bay yields as easily to Storm's omni-tool as the airlock did. Like the rest of the ship, the only illumination is via red emergency lights. Except for the softly glowing bluish-white orb at the far end of the cargo hold. The blue-white glow seems to cycle and shimmer, light waxing and waning, casting shadows on the surrounding cargo crates.

"What. The. Fuck?" Saunders breathes as the four slowly enter the room.

Wilde breathes rapidly, and a cold sweat breaks out on her forehead. This is it, the source of the voice and the wrongness. How come nobody else _feels it?_ As she steps closer to the orb, it seems to beckon her _Come. Closer._ She shudders and steps closer, unable to stop.

"Wilde!" Storm barks, "Get back here!"

Wilde doesn't hear her, her voice is drowned out by the siren call of the blue orb. And now that she's bathed in the blue-white light, things aren't bad any more. _Come. Closer. Surrender. _Wilde sighs almost in pleasure and steps into the light. As though watching a vid, she sees herself detach the sidearm from her hip, release the safety. A rapt look steals across her face as the pistol unfolds itself like a deadly flower.

By the room's entrance, Saunders, Storm and Carver all have their weapons out.

"Drop it, Private!" Storm shouts.

"Put it down, Wilde," Carver says, voice soothing.

"God _damn_ it, Wilde. What the fuck are you _doing?_" Saunders' voice breaks on the last word.

Wilde doesn't hear any of this. She's consumed by the light and has all but given herself to the terrible beauty it holds. Turning jerkily to face her squad, she raises the gun, presses the barrel up under the shelf of her jaw...and screams as a vicious bolt of energy enfolds her.

As Wilde turns to face them, gun in hand, Storm has an epiphany and suddenly sees how it must have been for the crew of the ill-fated _Sarah's Pride._ The crew find and bring aboard an alien artifact that somehow gets inside their heads and forces them to commit mass suicide. Now, her unit has stumbled across it and is about to offer up another victim.

"Not on my watch," Storm says grimly, bringing up her omni-tool and keying a command into the minifacturing unit. The omni-tool glows amber and a damping charge appears in the palm of her left hand. As Wilde brings the gun up and presses the barrel up beneath her helmet, Storm primes the tech mine and tosses it under Wilde's feet.

The resulting orange-white burst of energy causes them all to reel back and leaves behind after images for several minutes after. Saunders blinks away the light and begins to run towards his friend; Storm grabs him by the shoulder and shoves up against a wall. Jerking her head to Carver she snaps, "Get him out of here!" Carver drags away Saunders, who's screaming inarticulately as he goes.

On the outside of the cargo bay, Storm ejects the ammo block from her sidearm and hands both it and her knife to Carver.

"Ma'am?" he says, as though she's just given him the holy grail.

"Whatever that thing was, it made the crew of this ship kill themselves and tried to kill Wilde. I'm going back in there to get her and I don't plan on reboarding_ Tokyo_ feet first with a hole in my head."

"I'll go," Carver says and tries to push past. Storm puts a firm hand against his chest and pushes him back. "Stay here with Saunders." She nods at the young man who appears shell-shocked, tears drying on his face. Before Carver can protest further, Storm's back in the cargo bay.

Storm walks towards where Wilde lays twitching, gaze firmly on the decking between her feet so she won't have to look at the orb. _Now_ she can hear a faint voice and wonders how she ever missed it, it's so_ clear._ And it sounds _so right._ Storm pokes her tongue between her teeth and bites down as hard as she can. The pain and the taste of her own blood bring her back around. Now she can see, on the edges of her vision, Wilde's booted feet, jerking occasionally as the effects of the damping mine wear off.

In basic, Storm was subjected to the damping field's effects. The foul-mouthed drill instructor describes the damping mine like, "A taser on motherfuckin' steroids." So she feels bad for having reduced the young woman to a quivering mess. Better that than death, she thinks. Still looking at the floor, Storm takes a firm hold of Wilde's ankles and drags her as quickly as possible back the other way.

---

Back on the _Tokyo_, the ship is abuzz with talk of what the Marines found on the freighter. Storm, having returned from the medbay where the medics assured her that Private Wilde would be well looked after, finished her report to the Captain. The two sat in Montgomery's office. A copy of the OSD from freighter sat by Montgomery's right hand. Despite unleashing the impressive computing power of Alice on the logs, the files still make no sense. As for the blue-glowing orb, it still rested inside the _Sarah's Pride's_ cargo hold. Once the squad returned and Wilde was being looked at, Montgomery ordered the cruiser to detach from the freighter.

Storm thought that wasn't going nearly far enough and wished she could order the crew to blow the ship and everything on it into atoms.

"And your belief is that this orb caused the deaths of the freighter's crew?" Montgomery asked.

"Yes, Ma'am and it almost forced Private Wilde to kill herself." Storm paused. "Permission to speak freely?"

Montgomery raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

Storm folded her hands into her lap to stop them from fidgeting. "Ma'am may I recommend that we destroy the ship and the orb? I believe it poses to great a risk if it's left intact."

"I'll take that under advisement, Lieutenant," Montgomery replied but, for an instant, her gaze broke from Storm's and Storm knew she was lying.

"Captain, please..."

"That will be all, Lieutenant."

Storm risked another try, "With respect.-"

"Dis. Missed!" Montgomery barked and Storm winced.

---

"How is she?" Storm asked Carver. The two stood just inside the cruiser's infirmary. Wilde lay still unconscious, wired to an array of monitors measuring respiration, heart-rate and brain function. Seated beside her, holding her hand and stroking her forehead was Saunders. For her own safety, Wilde's arms were tethered with restraints to the sides of the bed; the doctors having very real concerns that the young Marine would attempt another act of self-termination.

"The doc says there won't be any permanent physical damage," Carver answered.

"Yeah, I meant mentally. Right at the end there, I heard that thing talk to me and Wilde got it a lot worse."

Carver shrugged. "The doc gave me some long-winded medical babble that I didn't understand word one of. I don't even think _they_ know what's happening."

"Fantastic," Storm muttered and ran a hand through her hair. Watching Saunders stroke Wilde's head she said, "They'd make a nice couple, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Carver rumbled, "If only Saunders would stop acting like a dick long enough for him to tell her how he feels."

Storm nodded and, hands in the pockets of her fatigues, walked towards the bed. "How you holding up?" she asked Saunders. He began to stand but she waved him off.

"I'm fine. Ma'am," Saunders inhaled deeply, "I wanted to thank you for what you did. I...should have done more instead of just standing around like an idiot."

Storm pulled up a seat and sat, folding one leg over the other. She eyed the displays around the bed for a moment. "You can thank me by buying Wilde dinner next shore leave."

Saunders looked away. "The whole ship knows you have a thing for her and so long as it doesn't effect either of you in the field, I have no problem with it," Storm went on.

Saunders looked up at her, lips twitching in his wrung out face. "Yeah. I'll do that. If..._when_ she comes around."

Hayley nodded and left to finish recording her vid message.

**A/N:**I decided to try my hand at a bit of horror. Basic inspiration is the derelict freighter sidequest in Mass Effect where the crew have been huskified. But personally, I find the idea of something that gets inside your mind and makes you kill yourself horribly scarier. So voila


	5. Reunion

**5. Reunion**

Storm was on duty in the CIC, assisting Michaels with a rebuild of one of the sensor stations when the call from HQ came.

Storm crouched before the exposed innards of the station, uniform sleeves rolled up to reveal the five-pointed star tattoos on the inside of each wrist. And the faint traceries of scars on her right arm where shrapnel from a batarian grenade had embedded itself. More such scarring marred her ribcage and upper right thigh. After all this time, Storm barely noticed it any more. When she was sill a patient on the _Sydney_, she closed herself in the small bathroom in the ward, stripped off the hospital gown and just eyed off her reflection in the mirror for a while, rotating the arm this way and that. Dark circles lay beneath her eyes, stark against her pallid skin.

"OK," she breathed. "Lucky you were wearing your helmet and you still have your looks." Then she laughed until she cried.

Storm shook off the memory and carefully extracted a circuit board and plugged it into the I/O port on her diagnostic unit. The handheld device ran a series of tests on the board and confirmed what both she and Michaels, as well as the sensor operator who crewed this station already knew: the board was toast.

"That's the third one in two months," Michaels observed from behind her. She liked Michaels. His knowledge of all things technical far exceeded her own and he'd taught her a lot in the time she'd served with him.

"At this rate we'll run out of omni-gel before our next layover," Storm replied. Replacing the board was a simple affair: simply convert it to omni-gel using her Bluewire and convert the omni-gel back into a new board. Plug in the board and voila.

Storm slot the card back in, ran a test to confirm it functioned and closed the panel. As she stood up and smoothed out her uniform, the call came through.

"Fifth Fleet Command to _Tokyo_," the operator on Arcturus hailed the cruiser.

"_Tokyo_ here. What can we do for you, Command?" Serviceman Third Class O'Toole replied, his Scottish accent pleasant to Storm's ears.

"The _Normandy_ has requested a vessel for a prisoner transfer."

As the word _Normandy _was spoken, the CIC crew whispered to themselves. Michaels and Storm's ears perked up. Though details were clouded by the usual need-to-know status, everybody knew that the SSV_ Normandy _was involved in the hunt for the rogue Spectre, Saren Arterius. Led by Commander Shepard, now a Spectre in her own right, the crew of the _Normandy _had narrowly averted a major catastrophe on Eden Prime and had discovered evidence of Saren's betrayal of the Council, resulting in him being stripped of rank.

How much of the reports on Shepard's activities was mere spin in order to inspire humanity and how much of it was true, Storm didn't know. She did know that Shepard was suddenly famous, catapulted into the public consciousness. Unsurprisingly, PFC Saunders saw through all the media hype and focused in on only one thing.

"Damn," he'd said as vids of Shepard and the _Normandy _were beamed throughout the extranet. "Talk about _hot!_"

"Saunders, you disgust me!" Wilde spat. The two had been engaged in a not very clandestine affair to which Storm turned a blind eye. So long as they continued to perform their duties, what they did with and to each other after lights out wasn't her concern.

"Come _on_, Wilde! You just came out and said that Lieutenant whathisface was, and I'm quoting here, _very cute._"

"Yeah, but when I say it, I don't make it sound like I'm referring to a piece of beef in the damn butcher shop window!"

Storm had been mildly surprised to see Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko in some of the footage of the Behind the Scenes: _Normandy_ documentary. She'd had a feeling, even after their brief meeting on Arcturus that he wouldn't stay behind a desk for long and now there he was.

Onscreen, the reporter, Ms Al-Jilani was questioning Shepard on her current mission. When she replied, Shepard's voice was clear and decisive.

"I'm afraid I can't comment on the specifics of what may or may not be my current assignment."

"Man, even her _voice _sounds hot!" Saunders practically drooled. Secretly, Storm agreed with the young marine. Shepard was rather good looking, if in a hard-edged way. Not even the scar on the left side of her face, which some said was the result of a gang-related incident during her childhood on Earth, detracted from her appearance. Shepard's corn-flower blue eyes, framed by thick lashes, seemed to stare out from the vidscreen and right into Hayley's. For all the hellish things those eyes had undoubtedly borne witness to, there appeared a twinkle in them hinting at the Commander's sense of humour, which reportedly leaned towards the darkly comic.

Wilde shook her head, hair falling across her forehead and stormed off.

Presently, Storm stood beside Michaels as they listened to Command. "_Tokyo_ is the closest ship to the _Normandy's_ current location. Your orders are to make the pickup and deliver the prisoner to Arcturus ASAP. Transmitting co-ordinates now. Command, out."

"Huh," said Storm as the captain began issuing orders. "I wonder who pissed off the brass enough that they sent Shepard after them?"

"I don't know, but I do know I wouldn't want to be them, whoever it is," Michaels said and the two left for the engineering deck.

---

"Lieutenant Storm, I want your squad to oversee the prisoner exchange. I trust Private Wilde is fully recovered from the incident aboard the freighter?" Captain Montgomery asked from behind her desk. Storm nodded, feeling the old anger over that incident slowly building. Montgomery had told Command of the artifact and the higher ups had decided they needed to secure it for an in-depth study. Storm thought the person responsible for that decision was an idiot and fervently hoped it hadn't been the Admiral behind it.

"Captain, my squad is at full strength."

"Excellent. We rendezvous with _Normandy_ in six hours. Dismissed."

Storm nodded and left the captain's quarters.

After gathering her squad in the mess, Storm relayed the Captain's wishes.

"I wonder if we'll get a chance to meet Shepard?" Saunders wondered aloud. Wilde just eyed him steadily, a vein beating in her forehead. Storm smiled inwardly. To be a fly on the wall when those two were alone, she thought.

"I'm sure a Spectre has more important things to concern herself with than watching her people pass a prisoner from one ship to another."

Still, if the opportunity came up, Hayley wouldn't mind shaking Shepard's hand. She felt that, though they'd never met, they had some things in common. Both had witnessed terrible things happen to their units: Storm on Torfan and Shepard on Akuze.

Both were from Earth. Though Storm was fortunate enough to enjoy a comparatively privileged upbringing while Shepard had had to scrabble out a life for herself on the street. Then there was Alenko. Sometimes Hayley was convinced the universe possessed a warped sense of humour.

Wilde turned to her off-on partner and leaned in towards him, a sweet smile on her face. "Daniel, if I ever catch you eyeing off a woman and mentally undressing her, I _will_ make you regret it."

"Did you see that, LT? She just threatened me!" Saunders said indignantly.

Wilde shook her head. "That wasn't a threat. It was promise."

"OK, that's enough. We link up with _Normandy_ in six hours. I want everybody to get some rack time." Hayley looked from Saunders to Wilde and back. "And when I say rack time, what I _really_ mean is sleep. Is that understood, Privates?"

Embarrassed, Saunders looked away. Wilde nodded soberly. "Dismissed," Storm said and watched her team disperse.

---

Suiting up in the locker room as the minutes tick down to zero-hour, Storm feels oddly anxious. In a short time, she'll be aboard the _Normandy_. True, she's only going as far as the frigate's airlock as the prisoner is escorted to the_ Tokyo_ but still, to be aboard what is likely the single-most famous ship in the galaxy...Hayley feels awed. The funny thing, she thinks as she checks her suit integrity, is the number of meetings relating to the Normandy Project that went on right under her nose at Arcturus and she had no idea what was happening. She chuckles softly to herself and takes a last look at the family photograph stuck to the inside of her locker's door.

The picture - mother, father, brother and herself in dress uniform, reminds her of what she's doing out here - keeping things safe for her family and countless others. It also gives her something to come back to, to focus on when things begin to overwhelm her. She kisses the tips of her fingers and gently presses them to the surface of the photograph. "I'll see you soon," she promises them. Then the locker swings shut.

The _Tokyo's_ helmsman treats the entire affair as though it's business as usual - with seeming effortlessness, he brings the flank of the hulking cruiser around, lining her up with the smaller and sleeker frigate. Storm and her squad stand just outside the airlock doors, waiting while the docking collar extends, linking the two ships. A faint shudder reverberates throughout both craft as the collar locks into place and pressurises.

The comm comes to life and _Normandy's_ pilot confirms they have a hard seal on the airlock. "_Tokyo_, you are cleared to board, over."

"Copy that, _Normandy._ Sending our team across now. Good to see a friendly face out here, so to speak."

"Thank you, _Tokyo. Normandy_ out."

The airlock cycles open and Storm leads the way across the short distance separating them from _Normandy's_ airlock. The frigate's outer hatch cycles open, revealing a tall woman with piercing eyes. Storm is surprised to see that the Commander herself is overseeing the exchange. Shepard's left hand has firm hold of a man who appears to be in late middle age. His head hangs low and his shoulders are slumped, making it difficult to gauge his height. His manacled hands are held before him.

Flanking Shepard are two other soldiers in combat gear. On her left is a woman in a Phoenix hardsuit. On her right is a tall, broad shouldered man. His eyes look as thought they've seen a few things in his time.

Suppressing a smile, Storm comes to attention and salutes the Commander. "First Lieutenant Storm," she says.

Shepard returns the salute crisply, keeping her other hand on the prisoner's shoulder. "Commander Shepard. The soldiers with me are Gunnery Chief Williams and Staff Lieutenant Alenko."

"Lieutenant," says Alenko and inclines his head towards her. Storm nods back and introduces her own squadmates. At the sound of her voice, the prisoner looks up, straightening his shoulders as he meets her gaze.

"Lieutenant Storm," he says politely. "You look well."

"Son of a-" Carver bites back a curse from behind her. Shepard flicks a glance at him then turns her attention back to

"Major Kyle," Storm breathes. She doesn't know what she's supposed to feel at this juncture. Anger? Shock? Dismay? All of the above? Eventually, she settles on nothing. She feels no strong emotion upon seeing her former CO, the man whose orders caused so many people to lose their lives. Later, she supposes, later she'll feel plenty.

"You've met?" Shepard asks as though commenting on the weather. It's a bit warm today, isn't it? she could ask in the same tone of voice.

In reply, Storm says only one word for that one word speaks volumes, "Torfan." Shepard nods and they complete the matter of the transfer.

---

Storm sat on her bunk for a while, left hand rhythmically squeezing a tennis ball, thinking. The waves of pain and hurt that she expected to come welling up after encountering Kyle after all this time haven't arrived. "Maybe that means I've finally come to terms with what happened?" she wondered aloud. Across the room, another junior officer looked up at her then went back to lacing his boots.

Tossing the tennis ball from hand to hand, Storm came to a decision. Dropping the ball onto her bunk, she headed for the main elevator.

"First Lieutenant Storm to see the prisoner," she rapped out to the guard posted outside the entrance to the _Tokyo's_ brig. The guard nodded and unlocked the door for her. She stepped through and he shut the door behind them. With rapid footsteps, the guard led her past rows of vacant cells to the one holding Kyle.

"I'd like a moment alone, please," Storm told the guard. He nodded and left, his footsteps echoing off the metal walls.

For a long time, the two merely looked at each other through the barred cell. Kyle came to his feet when Storm arrived and even now, she felt compelled to salute. He may have gone off the deep end, if what the reports are saying is true but he's still a superior officer. Kyle seemed surprised by the gesture and it was several seconds before he returned the salute.

The Major seemed diminished, somehow. As though some part of him had died inside.

The words Storm expected to come so easily to her seemed to have stuck in her throat and even now, she felt only that numbness. She sighed and turned to leave.

"Hayley," Kyle's voice, soft yet commanding spoke. This is the first time he'd called her by her given name, she realised. Face neutral, she turned back to face him.

"I know it's too late and you probably don't care any more but for what it's worth, I'm sorry," the major said in that quiet voice.

"For what?" she replied, equally quiet. She knew what he meant but she needed to hear him say it.

"For Torfan. I realise now my actions caused the deaths of a great number of brave men and women. And brought pain and misery to those who lived."

Finally, Storm felt something pierce the numbness that encased her like cotton wool: not anger or rage or sadness or even pity for the man before her. Instead she felt forgiveness for him. "I know you're probably not looking for absolution and I'm not telling you this for your sake but because I've held onto this for too long as it is. So here goes: I forgive you and I hope you receive the help you need. Goodbye, Major."

Storm left the brig without a backward glance.

---

"I heard you saw Kyle," the corporal asked as the two marines lifted weights in the _Tokyo's_ gym. Carver's muscles, slick with perspiration rippled smoothly under his skin and Hayley forced herself to look away. More and more lately, she'd been feeling certain...urges. _You need a man, Hayles._ a voice whispered in her mind. _That or a vibrator._ Storm felt a flush rise in her skin and hoped that, if Carver noticed, he'd think it was only from exerting herself on the weight machines.

"I did, yeah," she replied.

"Are you OK?" Carver asked and something in his voice made her look up. And she saw a concern for her in his eyes, worry beyond what she might have expected for her as his CO.

Mopping her brow with her towel, she nodded. "Yeah. Kyle...I don't know. He's not the same man who gave those orders on Torfan. Something in him broke, I think. I'm glad Shepard was able to bring him in alive. He needs help."

"Ask me," Carver said, eyeing her steadily, "It'd be easier for everybody if she'd have just shot him." Seeing Storm's mouth compress, he went on, "I'm sorry, Ma'am. That was harsh."

"It's fine. If this had happened six months ago, I'd probably have felt the same way."

Inhaling deeply, Storm again glanced at Carver, the smooth shifting of muscles beneath skin. _The hell with it, _She thought. "Corporal, when we arrive on Arcturus, would you care to have a drink with me?"

Carver put down the hand weights he was using and wiped his shaved scalp. "I thought-" she cut him off before he could say more.

"I'm not asking you to marry me, Bill," she said with a smile. "Just buy me a drink. That's all," she said, stressing the last two words though she honestly didn't know who she was trying to convince: him or herself.

---

Montgomery gave the _Tokyo's_ crew a day of shore leave on Arcturus and, as the officers and crew disembarked from the ship, Storm waged a silent inner war against herself.

_It's just a drink. That's all. A drink._ she told herself as she toweled her hair dry and combed it out after her shower.

_Uh huh, then why are you going to so much trouble over your appearance? Make up, Hayles?_ Storm frowned at her own refection in the locker room mirror, pausing as she applied lipstick. Sedate in colour, nothing like the garish electric blues and pinks favoured by Wilde on occasion but nonetheless - lipstick.

_So I want to look presentable. That's a crime now?_ Screwing the top back on the lipstick canister, Storm debated adding a touch of blusher.

_Oh go on!_ The voice mocked her. _You might as well go whole hog and paint yourself up a like a cheap whore!_ Hayley's right hand closed into a tight fist and it wasn't until she felt her own fingernails digging into her palm that she realised how tense she was over the whole drinks with Carver thing. Exhaling through her nostrils, Hayley used the fingers of her other hand to prise open her right hand before leaving the locker room. Lipstick was fine. It would do just nicely.

_Yeah, it isn't like Billy Boy hasn't seen you at your worst: caked head to toe in batarian blood and bodily fluids with that look of homicidal rage in your eyes. Hell, if he sees you like this, he won't even recognise you!_

"God help me," she muttered as she made her way forward towards the airlock and beyond that, freedom of a sort.

"Ma'am?" a voice from behind her asked. Hayley turned to see Wilde and blinked.

"You own a dress, Wilde?" she blurted out in surprise. PFC Wilde stood before her wearing a pretty blue dress with thin spaghetti straps. Wilde's hair was swept up into an intricate swirl atop her head.

"Yes, Ma'am. I own a dress," Wilde deadpanned. "I even know how to dance and everything!" she said, twirling around for a moment, skirt billowing out around her.

"Sorry," Storm said, rubbing the back of her neck. "I've just never seen you in anything other than a hardsuit or shipboard clothes."

Wilde shrugged and said, voice low, "Daniel and I are going on a date while have the chance."

Storm nodded, "How are you two getting along?" And asking about other people's relationships was somehow easier than having do deal with her own not-relationship with Carver.

"Once you get past the the facade he presents to the world, he's actually a really nice guy. I know it's probably going to end badly but...right now I'm just too happy to care. You know?"

Unsure what to say, Storm merely nodded. Then a sly look stole across Wilde's features, "So, scuttlebutt says you and the corporal are having a drink? That the reason for the warpaint?"

"Corporal Carver and I are just friends and colleagues," Storm spoke the words as though reciting them from a teleprompter. "And can't a girl doll up once and a while?"

"Hey, it's nothing to do with me. I hope it works out for you, Ma'am, I really do," Wilde said, laying a hand on her superior's arm for a moment before sketching a salute and heading out the airlock. With a final look around her, Storm followed her out.

---

Carver stands up from the table at the bar favoured by Alliance personnel on Arcturus as she arrives and feels his breath catch in his throat. Though, like himself, the LT is wearing her shipboard fatigues, something about her appearance seems different. As though he's only now seeing her as she truly is.

Hayley stops a few feet away, placing her hands on the back of a chair as though using it as a barrier between Carver and herself. Part of her is _still_ unsure about this but it's too late to back out now.

"Bill," she says as she sits down.

Carver stands a moment longer before he too sits and for several moments the two just watch each other, as though each is afraid to make the first move. Carver says, "You look very pretty...Ma'am." and were his colouring pale like her own, she'd be able to see the blush rising in his cheeks.

"We're off duty for now," she replies, fingertips sliding over the nicks and imperfections in the surface of the table. At some point in the past, some one has carved _James loves Jennifer _in the tabletop and her fingernails slide in and out of the grooves cut into the wood. "Call me Hayley," she finishes. "Or Hayles," she says and laughs nervously. When _was_ the last time she did something like this? She can't remember, she really can't and that's perhaps the saddest thing of all.

Carver swallows and nods as though he doesn't trust his own voice. Then he says, "What can I get for you...Hayley?" and hearing her name spoken by his deep rich voice moves something inside her, something she hasn't felt in a long time. If she weren't an officer..._You'd what,_ the voice whispers in her mind, _take him right here in the bar? Like hell you would._

Though she isn't much of a drinker, Hayley orders up a whisky, hoping she still isn't the lightweight drunk of years gone by.

While they wait for the drinks to arrive, the two soldiers talk shop. "I heard one of Gunny Ellison's biotics had his amp confiscated," Carver says.

"They can do that?" Hayley asks, "I mean, I thought the implants were wired right into the skull?"

"Oh, I meant the actual upgrade...thing," Carver elaborates. "I heard the biotic was showing off, juggling live ammo with his powers or whatever they call them. Sumitomo caught him and reamed him out good. And confiscated the amp."

"Jesus wept," Hayley shakes her head then nods in thanks as the waitress arrives with their drinks. She raises the glass and offers up a toast, "To good friends." Carver nods and they clink glasses together. Taking a sip from her glass, Hayley feels the warmth of the liquor spread inside her.

_That's right, get drunk enough to make this seem like a good idea._ With an effort, Hayley tunes out the voice.

"You ever think about what you'll do after you retire from the service?" Bill asks at length.

"Not really...what about you?"

"I've always wanted to own my own bar, place like this, you know?" Bill answers and she looks around her surroundings, as though only now just seeing them. She nods; she can see Bill standing behind a bar, dispensing drinks and the bartender's own brand of wisdom. He'd keep a shotgun under the bar, just in case though his sheer physical presence would be enough to stop people acting up. She smiles, eyes crinkling up at the corners.

"What's funny?" he wants to know.

"Oh, I was just picturing you intimidating the hell out of potential troublemakers just by looking at them," she replies, asking herself whether she'd be totally out of order if she lays a hand on his forearm. Bill beats her to it and, feeling the touch of his hand upon her arm his skin warming hers, she realises how much she's missed this: the simple companionship between two people. Even if things don't progress past this, they'll always be able to turn to each other in times of need.

Hayley blinks back sudden tears and places her own hand atop his, squeezing it gently. Eventually she glances at her watch and says, voice husky, "We should probably head back to the ship before Montgomery sends out a search party."

Bill nods. "I had a good time, Hayley."

"So did I, Bill. So did I."

**A/N:**Was wandering around a shopping centre and had an idea for something that spins out from the Major Kyle sidequest and I wanted to add more to the relationship between Storm and Carver. And normally I don't touch romance with a fifty foot pole so let me know if you liked it.


	6. Of Allergies and Moles

**6. Of Allergies and Moles**

"Hailstorm this is Raptor, do you copy? Over," the voice of Gunnery Chief Ellison sounded clearly in Storm's earpiece. Her's and Raptor's squads had been tasked with clearing out the pirate base located by a recon flight out of the dreadnought _Everest_ three nights earlier. Raptor's squad was on point, performing additional scouting from the ground and eliminating the few pirates on patrol, allowing Hailstorm and her team the relative luxury of being dropped right on top of the prefab structure without having to deal with the patrols.

"Hailstorm copies. Go ahead, Raptor," she replied. Her team, in full combat gear sat aboard _Tokyo's _dropship in readiness for the combat drop. Too large to make planet-fall itself and not built for atmospheric re-entry, _Tokyo _instead used relatively small, fast and nimble dropships to deploy ground troops while the cruiser herself hung overhead in geosynchronous orbit, ready to provided fire support if necessary.

"Outside patrols eliminated and we've ripped the guts out of the communications and tracking arrays. They're blind and dumb, Hailstorm."

"Copy that, Raptor. We appreciate the assist. Hailstorm, out." Storm closed the channel to Raptor, switching her comm to the frequency used by the dropship.

"Dropship One, Raptor reports the LZ is clear, we're ready to drop."

"'bout time, Storm. My butt's just about numb from sitting for too long and Fitzsimmons here won't shut up about his girlfriend," the pilot griped good naturedly.

"Hey screw you, O'Rourke," the copilot shot back, "At least I _have_ a girlfriend and don't rely overly much on my right hand!"

"Jesus," Wilde, seated alongside Storm muttered. Saunders grinned to himself. Carver, Storm noticed, had his head tipped back, helmet resting against the bulkhead, eyes closed. _How that man can sleep at a time like this is beyond me._

Voice now sober and professional, Flight Lieutenant O'Rourke said, "Dropship One reports ready to drop. Opening drop bay doors in three...two...one...drop!"

The sleek dropship, surfaces covered in radar-absorbent paint fell silently through the vacuum towards the large rocky asteroid the recon flights had located. In the rear of the vessel, Storm glanced over at Carver who still seemed to be sleeping and poked him in the side. "Rise and shine, Corporal," she said cheerfully.

"We there yet?" he asked through a gaping yawn.

"Almost. All right, listen up! Raptor team has already eliminated the patrols and taken out the enemy's comm and sensor arrays so we should have a clean drop. That doesn't mean anybody gets to slack off. Stay sharp and watch each other's backs."

As the dropship descended towards the pirate base, the squad stood in readiness for disembarkment from the ship. To minimise the time in hostile airspace, the dropship would pause only long enough to safely offload the squad before returning to low orbit to provide overwatch of the area.

The doors at the rear of the ship irised open and Storm shouted, "Go! Go! Go!" before throwing herself out of the dropship. As she went a thought occurred to her, _You must be insane to throw yourself out of a perfectly good ship_.

---

Private Saunders was in his element. Aglow with dark energy, he pushed out with his left hand and a group of three pirates, two humans and a salarian were briefly made airborne before they slammed into a wall with enough force to pulverise their organs and leave three vaguely man-shaped indentations in the wall. The bodies crumpled to the floor, blood leaking from the eyes and mouth.

"Kill confirmed," he said calmly. _And how!_

As Saunders moved from cover to cover, deeper into the large warehouse-like space in the centre of the base, he caught motion from the corner of his eye "Contact," he said quietly. "I'm on it."

"Carver, cover him," Hailstorm said. Carver nodded, detaching the sniper rifle from the hardpoint on his back.

Grigori's breath came in short, hard gasps. A biotic! A thrice-damned tool of Satan, himself. Grigori had seen what the biotic had done to Makharov and the others. He didn't really care much about the salarian, but he counted the other two men as friends. And he'd seen the life literally crushed from them in one negligent motion. His hands were slick with sweat and he paused to wipe them on his pants. He didn't even have a hardsuit, just these grubby coveralls. He was a mechanic for godsake! Where were the bloody guards?

Grigori crouched by a stack of cargo containers, gripping the rifle butt tight enough that his knuckles were white. He inhaled deeply and stood up to see where the biotic was.

Seen through the scope of Carver's rifle, the man's face loomed large. Large, sweaty and terrified. Clearly this was no soldier but he'd thrown in his lot with the pirates and Carver had no sympathy for him. Before the man could duck back down, Carver stroked the trigger, sending a hypersonic slug through the man's head. The head snapped back, spraying blood and the man collapsed. Carver grinned as Saunders swore, "Dammit, Carver! I almost had him in my sights!"

"It'll be a cold day in hell before I'm outshot by a teenager," Carver replied, still grinning. Sobering up again, he commed the Lieutenant, "Area secured, Ma'am."

"Roger that. Carver, start planting your demo charges. Wilde and I will take a look at their systems, see if there's any usable info for the boys and girls in Intelligence."

Owing to the extremely lacklustre account keeping of the pirate band, neither Storm nor Wilde were able to pull any hard intel on pirate operations in the area. Carver's explosives blew up the base real good, though.

---

It was Wilde who noticed the mole on the Lieutenant's left shoulder blade. Dark brown, edging towards black at the edges. The mole's outline was irregular where the few others on the LT's back were round and it was raised slightly from the surrounding skin where the others weren't. Wilde didn't like it, not one bit.

"Ma'am," she began. The two were in the locker room, having just showered after completing a drop in the Attican Beta cluster. Another day, another pirate base dismantled. Independent salvage teams would be pulling debris from the asteroid surface for months.

"Have you seen that mole on your back?" The LT twisted her shoulder around, simultaneously craning her neck to see but couldn't get eyes on the target.

"What mole?" she finally asked, her neck cracking as she faced forward again.

"This one here," Wilde said, tracing a fingertip across it. "Doesn't look good, Ma'am. I'd see the doc if I were you."

Turning to face her subordinate, pulling on T-shirt, Storm asked, "You think it might be cancer?"

Wilde blinked. Just like that, she asked _you think it might be cancer_ she'd tell Saunders later. As though it were an unavoidable fact and one she'd better get used to.

"Uh, I don't know, Ma'am. But I wouldn't leave it if I were you."

"How the hell can a person get a melanoma..._in space?_" the LT muttered and pulled her collar-length blonde hair, still damp from the shower into a short ponytail. "I haven't felt sunlight on bare skin since...the last time I was on Earth and that was over a year ago."

Wilde shrugged, combing her fingers through her own short dark hair. She'd had it cut recently despite Saunders' protests. He liked long hair, he said. She snorted, he didn't have to live with long hair.

"Alright, I'll see the doc. Thanks, Wilde," the LT said and left the room.

---

Ten year old Hayley was playing with the dog in the back yard of their parent's house when it happened. Julian, at fourteen, had been left in charge of both the house and his sister, a responsibility he took seriously. Their parents had left for the afternoon to visit friends in a nearby town.

Standing in the kitchen, Julian looked out the window. It was mid-summer. The sky was a brilliant blue with puffy cumulus clouds high above. The lawn grew thick and lush, despite Julian taking the mower to it every two weeks. _Why can't we have that fake grass like the Lennons'?_ he wondered. The stuff looked and felt like real grass but it never needed mowing.

"Mowing lawns builds character," his father had told him when he'd asked why they had to have real grass.

"What's _build character?"_ Hayley, then aged eight had asked.

"You'll learn when you get older," their father answered. Hayley was about to build character, right here in the back yard.

Hayley threw the tennis ball, sticky with drool for Benji, the family labrador to chase. Enthusiastically, Benji chased down the ball, jaws closing around it and ran with it back to young Hayley. "Good boy!" she said excitedly

In her innocent exuberance as she played with the dog, Hayley strayed too close to a wasp nest and the inhabitants didn't take kindly to the intrusion.

"Ow!" Hayley yelped as something stung her between the shoulders, once, twice. Hayley swatted at the wasp but it had already gone, buzzing angrily around her head. Suddenly afraid of the large yellow and black insect, Hayley called Benji and the two ran for the house.

By the time she entered the kitchen, Hayley began to feel strange. Her lips began to tingle and swell up and her breath came in short gasps.

"Julian!" she called out, her voice rasping.

"Hayles? Oh my God!" Julian saw his sister's face swell up and immediately put two and two together. "Did a wasp sting you?"

"Uh huh," Hayley nodded. "My face feels all swollen."

"We have to go to the hospital," Julian said, grabbing the set of truck keys that hung from the hooks screwed into the kitchen door. "Right now!"

Grabbing his sister's hand he pulled her over to the backyard shed where their father kept the old diesel powered monstrosity. In the past year, Julian had been learning to drive the old Toyota and had gotten pretty good at it. Good enough to drive it on the open road to the hospital before his sister died of anaphylactic shock and _not_ crash it? _We'll see_ he thought to himself.

"You can't drive," Hayley protested, breath wheezing in and out of her throat, "You don't....have a license!"

Julian placed his hands on her slim shoulders and said in as a calm a voice as he could, "Hayles, you have to trust me. You need medicine from the hospital to make you better, OK?"

Hayley nodded. She trusted her brother, he'd never let anything bad happen to her. Relieved, Julian hugged her tight. "Good girl."

Racing to the truck, Julian fumbled with the keys, finally getting the door of the old red Hilux open. He ran to the passenger side, wrenched the door open and lifted Hayley into the seat before strapping her in.

Quickly, Julian adjusted the rear view mirrors and twisted the key in the ignition. The elderly turbo-diesel engine roared to life, the vehicle shuddering as he revved the engine, grey-black smoke issuing from the tailpipe and threatening to choke them both.

"Julian," Hayley said in a small voice, "Am I going to die?"

"No, no, honey." Julian leaned over and brushed her hair back from her forehead. Turning to face forward he gunned the engine and roared out onto the road, the rear almost fishtailing out of control before the tires bit into the road surface with a squeal of burnt rubber.

Storm the Elder had tuned the truck's radio to an oldies station, and, as the old Hilux merged into traffic, Elvis Presley singing _Jailhouse Rock_ segued into The Beatles' _Let it Be._ Julian reached for the tuner, hoping to find something rocking when Hayley placed a small hand on his arm. "Leave...it," she said with a wheeze. Julian shot her a concerned glance and let his hand fall back to the wheel.

Julian drove with a white-knuckled grip on the wheel, the truck shuddering every time he engaged the clutch and changed gears. _Manual transmissions build character, right dad?_

Hayley lay in the passenger seat, eyes wide open, chest rising and falling as she fought for breath. By now her face was horribly swollen and Julian counted his blessings - at least she hadn't been stung in the face or throat or she'd probably already be...

_No! She won't die. I won't let her!_

Mercifully, the traffic was fairly light and they arrived at the hospital after what wasn't an hour but only felt that way to Julian and he slammed on the brakes, parking the truck half in and half out of a disabled parking space right next to the entrance to the ER. Julian believed that able-bodied people who took the parking spaces reserved for wheelchair bound people should have their legs broken so that they'd know what it felt like to be reliant on a chair for mobility, at least temporarily.

He began to revise that opinion as he unbuckled Hayley's seatbelt and half carried her inside. The ER was brightly lit and almost chilly due to the air conditioning after the heat of outside.

"Hey," he called out, "I need help here! My sister's been stung by a wasp and she's allergic!"

Immediately, a white-uniformed nurse bustled out from behind the admissions desk and ushered them inside a room with Exam Room One on the door. "I'll bring a doctor straight through," the nurse reassured them. Julian nodded gratefully. Hayley merely sat on the paper sheet covering the exam table, gasping and wheezing.

After maybe a minute, two perhaps, the door opened again and a tall man of Indian descent clad in a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck entered the room.

Before he could utter a word, Julian stood up from beside his sister and said, "She's been stung by a wasp and she's having a reaction, she can't breathe!"

As though to offer corroborating evidence of this, Hayley's wheezing seemed to ratchet up a notch. The doctor nodded and turned to a supply cabinet on the wall. He beamed a code from his omni-tool and the door swung open, revealing a cornucopia of drugs and medical supplies. The doctor removed a vial of fluid, a length of elastic and a syringe.

When the doctor spoke, his accent washed over the siblings like a soothing hand on a fevered brow. "I'm going to inject some epinephrine; that'll take care of the swelling and make it easier to breathe."

Hayley looked away as the doctor tightened the elastic around her elbow and plunged the needle into the vein there. Almost immediately, the drug began to work and her breath came more easily. Soon she began to feel the swelling in her face go down.

By the time their parents arrived at the hospital, just off the verge of freaking out, Hayley had fully recovered and had elevated her brother to the status of movie stars and rock idols. And, as the years went by, he never fell in her estimation of him.

The only downside to the whole experience was the thirty-credit parking fine they found affixed to the truck's windshield when they left the hospital late that afternoon.

---

"Well what do you think?" Hayley asked the medic as he stripped off the rubber gloves and tossed them in the wastebin. She sat on the exam table in _Tokyo's _cavernous medbay, shirt off and bra strap pulled aside to reveal the mole Wilde had been concerned about.

"Your PFC Wilde is quite right," the doctor said and his tone of voice seemed surprised that a jarhead was capable of such independent thought.

"That mole _is_ beginning to turn evil. Luckily, we can easily excise the little bugger and you'll have nothing more to worry about."

"I see," Storm replied and pulled the strap back into place. "How soon can we do this?"

"What about right now?" the doctor said, surprising her as he pulled on a fresh set of gloves and began placing surgical supplies into a stainless steel tray. With quiet dread, Storm watched as the doctor filled a syringe with local anaesthetic, tapped out the air bubbles and squirted out a bit of fluid before turning towards her.

"OK, Lieutenant. I'll need you to take off that bra, can't have that strap getting in the way, there's a good girl," the doctor said just a little too brightly for the Lieutenant's tastes.

Stoically, Storm sat, straight-backed as the medic first numbed the area around the mole _How the hell did I get a melanoma on a freaking starship?_ before taking to it with his scalpel, whistling to himself as he worked.

Even with the area deadened, Storm could still feel a tugging sensation as the mole was excised and the would sutured.

"I'll just send this off to pathology to make sure we got all of the little blighter but I suspect you'll have no more troubles. Though I would suggest a regular skin check up to make sure nothing else crops up."

Right arm held across her breasts, Storm looked over her shoulder at the doctor. "I think I'll have Wilde handle it. But thanks for the advice."

**A/N:** I was stung by a wasp once, years ago and that was the inspiration for this. I tell you , there's nothing quite like your lips swelling up and getting a shot of adrenaline to an elbow vein. What fun!


	7. Endings and New Beginnings

**7. Endings and New Beginnings**

**A/N:** I'm just about done with this series of chapter but I wanted to tie up a few loose ends.

__

Battle for the Citadel AD 2183

"Weapons! Concentrate fire on the ships nearest the _Destiny Ascension!_ Power up the GARDIAN! I will _not_ have this ship taken down by mass-produced AI drones!" Captain Montgomery shouted orders even as the _Tokyo_ and her sister ships, the cruisers_ Osaka_ and _Nagoya_, along with a six-ship wolf-pack of frigates emerged from the mass relay and into a maelstrom of hostile craft.

In the distance, laying waste to cruises and frigates, both human and Citadel Fleet alike, was the massive alien dreadnought, Sovereign. The immense craft, a titanic image of a squid from hell seemed to point its 'tentacles' and intense beams of light so bright it hurt to look at them flashed out, slicing a cruiser in half here and punching through the heart of frigate there. Standing in the centre of the CIC, Montgomery's lips thinned almost to nothing and her jaw clenched in futile anger. That thing was rending the fleet asunder and nothing that hit it seemed to have any impact. Worse, any ship that _did_ fire upon Sovereign was next to fall victim to its wrath.

Deciding discretion was the better part of valour, the _Tokyo's_ captain ordered the small task force she led not to directly engage the enemy dreadnought. Instead they'd take the pressure of the Citadel flagship by crippling as much of the geth armada as possible.

The main display in the CIC flashed an alert as the SSV _Osaka_ disappeared in a brilliant flash of white. In response, a pair of frigates, _Gallipoli_ and _Marathon_ moved to fill the void left by the vanquished cruiser, sending volleys of mass accelerator fire at the geth cruiser that had killed _Osaka_. Later, the captains of the two frigates would have a good-natured argument over whose ship had landed the killer blow on the insectile geth cruiser.

In the depths of engineering, Hailstorm was aware of none of this. She stood by along with Chief Engineer Michaels and PFC Wilde, each armed with omni-gel and emergency hull patching kits should the unthinkable happen and _Tokyo's_ hull become breached. Despite her best efforts, Hayley couldn't control the racing of her heart or the volume of her respiration that sounded too loud in the confines of her hardsuit helmet.

Hayley felt equal parts frustrated, angry and terrified. Her frustration and anger came from the fact that she was no longer in control of her own fate. Her life, as well as those of everybody aboard from the lowliest serviceman up to the Iron Bitch herself, lay in the hands of _Tokyo's_ crew. If they screwed the pooch...Her terror came from the fact that she may never again see her family or cuddle her two young nieces or enjoy simple things like walking along a deserted beach, feeling the warm grains of sand beneath her bare feet, the sun on her skin and the wind in her hair. She regretted all the missed chances in her life. _I should have told Bill how I felt when I had the chance._

Right then, she made a vow to herself. _If I survive this...I'll tell him. I will._ She half-expected the sarcastic voice from the depths of her mind to say something undermining but for a miracle, the bitch was silent, as though she too had been gripped by fear and muted. Despite the tension of the moment, Hayley smiled with real pleasure.

---

_Six months after Sovereign_

Things were not as they'd been. For First Lieutenant Storm, time could be neatly separated into BS and AS: Before Sovereign and After Sovereign. Before Sovereign, humanity had been, at best, tolerated by the Council races, like the annoying cousin you put up with because you had to. After Sovereign, it felt as though the Council would fall over itself to offer humanity concessions, starting with a seat on the Council. But humanity, thanks in no small part to Commander Shepard's bravery and tenacity (and some would say borderline insanity) had shown the rest of the galaxy the way and were now viewed seriously. And a little fearfully as though humanity was a barely-restrained dog that, given half a chance would turn on its masters and maul them.

With the Citadel fleet decimated, and humanity's fleets relatively unscathed by the fighting, many human politicians were pushing for humanity to take still greater control of galactic affairs. The more extreme ones, notably from the Terra Firma Party were most strident in forming an all-human Council but cooler heads, in the form of Captain Anderson, had prevailed and humanity stood on equal footing (theoretically) with its counterparts. It all made for very patriotic viewing on the vids, very much warm and fuzzy feeling-inducing. After a while, it made Storm sick. She'd been there. She'd seen the debris field left after the titanic struggle for survival, silent grave markers for the lost.

Even her squad was no longer as it was. Carver had announced that, at the end of his current tour, he was retiring to open that bar they'd talked about on Arcturus that time. As she watched his shuttle depart for home, she silently wept. She'd never said the words she promised herself she would. There just never seemed to be enough time. At least that's the way she told herself it was.

And for a time it was true: the politicians all said the fighting was done but that was bare-faced lie to placate a populace weary of war. In the Traverse, there were still plenty of pockets of geth resistance that needed addressing. And her squad faced more than its share. A few times, during moments of down time, she tried to find the words but they never came. The moments came and went, one after another. And _now_ the little bitch that lived in the back of her mind spoke up, tearing her apart from within:_ Goddamn, Hayles! Way to screw things up! All you had to do was grab the guy, kiss him and say 'I've wanted to do that for years.' But no, you had to keep fucking it up. Well, now you have what you wanted, are you happy?_

Saunders and Wilde, like something out of a latter-day fairytale, first got engaged, and then married. Storm's wedding invitation arrived while _Tokyo_ was conducting wargame exercises in the Skyllian Verge. By the time her next leave had come up, they'd happily settled into civilian life on Earth. Another missed opportunity.

Captain Montgomery called Storm up to her office and offered her a choice: stay on with the _Tokyo_ or transfer out to the SSV _Normandy_. Word had gone out to the effect that, following a crew restructure, Shepard was on the lookout for somebody to lead her secondary shore party. Somebody well-versed in Alliance communication and encryption protocols. Somebody she could trust.

"I took the liberty of forwarding your file to Commander Shepard," Montgomery told her as Storm sat at the desk. Hayley managed to retain a neutral expression though she felt her right eyelid twitch minutely. "Just this hour, I received a high priority data-packet over the 'net. Apparently, you've impressed her, Lieutenant and made her short-list."

"Ma'am," Storm said calmly though the eye was twitching noticeably now.

"Shepard pulled some of her Spectre strings and a shuttle is en route to pick you up and express deliver you to the Citadel. If I were you, Lieutenant, I'd not this chance slip by." And it was almost like Montgomery were reading the thoughts rampant in her mind at that point.

"Ma'am, yes Ma'am.'

"Dismissed, Lieutenant. I'm sure you'll do us proud."

---

Hailstorm stood in the Alliance docking bay just off the C-Sec Academy on the Citadel and readjusted her dress uniform for the nth time. Various ribbons on the right breast of her jacket gave anybody with the knowledge to read them a snapshot of her career: the ribbon from Torfan, the ribbon from the engagement over the Citadel. Not that'd she'd done anything beyond grip her repair kit with white-knuckled hands and tried not to panic. Over the years, she'd picked up various other commendations: for bravery, valour, all the things that made for patriotic sound-bytes for the pollies to spout. At times she felt ill over it all. She'd just turned twenty-five, had celebrated aboard _Tokyo_ before shipping out to the Citadel. Seven years in the Marines. Felt like seventy. Looking in the mirror that morning as she got ready for her interview with Shepard, she noted the fine lines around her eyes that hadn't been there this time last year.

Still, this was quite the honour: short-listed to be on Shepard's ground team, fighting alongside the woman the vids said _was the changing face of humanity_ whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. Storm knew that, if she scored this job, she could learn a lot and hopefully see the real woman behind the public persona.

Storm's chronograph bleeped. It was time for her to face her destiny.

The interior layout of the _Normandy_ was unlike anything she'd yet seen, harking back to its turian-inspired design. A corridor stretching from the bridge connected the CIC, the centre of which was dominated by the galaxy map display. Centred in the display was a zoomed-in view of the Argos Rho system. Feeling like she was in a foreign country or trespassing on hallowed ground, Storm came to attention and saluted a tall balding man whose ID identified him as Commander Pressly.

"First Lieutenant Storm to see Commander Shepard!" she rapped out, firing off a parade-ground perfect salute. Pressly nodded and led the way to Shepard's quarters. Saying not a word, he left and returned to his duties. Anxiety cranking up a notch, Storm pressed the control panel beside the closed door. The door sighed open, revealing a darkened room lit only by the warm amber glow of a desktop computer console. Storm felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

She took a single step beyond the threshold and the door shut behind her, locking itself. _The hell?_ Movement in her left peripheral vision caused her to turn that way, just in time to catch sight of the dully gleaming blade slashing at her. Reflexively, Storm blocked the strike with her upraised right forearm, grunting in pain as the blade sliced through the sleeve of her uniform, gashing her arm.

Operating purely on instinct, feeling the same rage that had propelled her on Torfan, Storm lunged forward, grabbed her attacker's wrist and twisted the knife aside, forcing her anonymous rival back against the bulkhead. Left hand lashing out, Storm struck her assailant in the face, once twice, feeling lips burst open and blood on her knuckles.

Storm slammed her right forearm, bleeding copiously, up against her attacker's throat, pinning the head against the bulkhead and cutting off his air.

Storm gasped loudly and even in these close quarters, she was unable to pierce the gloom and identify her attacker. Until a familiar voice chuckled.

"Nicely done, Storm...the first two guys Command sent didn't quite cut the mustard. You can ease off my throat now."

"Shepard? What the hell?" Storm shook her head. This wasn't right. Why the hell was Shepard attacking _her?_ Warily she released her hold on the Commander and backed off.

Shepard spoke to the ship's VI, "Lights!" and the room lit up, forcing Storm's pupils to contract in response. Before her, clad in blood stained fatigues, arms hanging loose at her side was Commander Shepard.

Now that the adrenaline was seeping out of her system, Storm felt the wound in her arm throb and closed her left hand around the cut.

"Sorry if I scared you there, Lieutenant but instead of the usual interview, I thought I'd subject you to the N-ops hazing ritual."

"Hazing ritual, Ma'am?"

Shepard smiled through her split lip, wiped blood away with one hand. "I broke an arm and three ribs fighting off my old instructor before I graduated from the special forces program."

Pulling herself to her full height, Shepard came to attention and saluted Hailstorm. "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant."

---

_Earth. Three years after Sovereign_

_I found a love I had lost  
__It had been gone for too long  
__Hear no evil in all directions  
__Execution of bitterness  
__Message received loud and clear  
__Don't change for you  
__Don't change a thing for me_

INXS, Don't Change

After ten years in the service, the last three aboard the _Normandy_, Storm made the decision to cash out after her last tour. At twenty-eight, she was still young enough to enjoy life as a civilian but the things she'd seen and been made to endure had marked her. The fine lines around her eyes and in her formerly smooth forehead had deepened, making her look older than her years but those who knew her best, her parents and brother, still saw the old Hayley in the spark of her hazel eyes.

She took her time catching up with family and friends and spent long hours after the rest of the family had retired, talking to her brother. He wasn't military but she felt he understood what she'd been through and she unburdened as much of herself on him as she could. As always, he stood firm by her side and never let her fall.

After spending time with the family and readjusting to civilian life - relearning to enjoy luxuries others took for granted like waking up at 0800 instead of dawn for example and eating whatever she felt like - Hayley tracked down Wilde and Saunders. Lucy had elected to keep her maiden name after she married Saunders and, knowing her as she did, Storm wasn't at all surprised. She was more surprised that Saunders had been surprised by the decision. The young couple had settled into a comfortable life and were already planning on starting a family. Hayley envied them their happiness and wished them all the best before she left for her final stop. The one that she dreaded the most.

---

"Hey boss, there's a girl here to see you."

Bill looked up from the computer in his small office at the rear of the bar he'd bought and renovated. He loved his new life. Except for the damn accounting. And next week the auditors were arriving. He felt grateful for the interruption.

"What girl?" he asked Sullivan who was tending bar at the moment. Bill referred to all his staff by their surnames. You can take the man out of the military but you can't take the military out of the man...

Sullivan shrugged, "Tall, blonde, pretty. Asked for you by name."

Alarm bells went off inside Bill's mind. There were countless women who'd fit that discription but hope springs eternal. "Any scars or identifying marks?" he asked.

"What is this, a friggin' police interview? Fine. She's got these two star-shaped tats on the inside of each wrist and some scarring on her right arm. You know her?"

Wordlessly Bill nodded, feeling his throat tighten. He knew her all right. Rising from the desk, he went to the front bar, wiping palms suddenly damp with sweat on his pants as he went.

The sight of her, after so much time took his breath away. She stood by the bar, clad in a floral-print dress that fell to mid-thigh, feet in sandals. Her hair, longer now, fell unbound past her shoulders and as she reached up a hand to brush a lock of hair from her eyes, a pair of bracelets clinked together, the gentle sound reaching his ears even over the sound of the bar patrons chatting.

For a moment, their gazes met and it was like the rest of the world ceased to exist, as though they were the only two people left alive. Bill's mouth opened and he said the first thing that came to mind, "You look more beautiful than I've ever seen you." Sullivan took this as his cue to leave and retreated to the far end of the bar, furiously polishing glasses and trying not to eavesdrop on his ex-marine corporal boss and his long-lost girlfriend.

Hayley smiled, crossed the distance between them until only the dark wood of the bar itself stood between them, reached up her hands, pulled his face down to meet hers and kissed him.

Pulling away from him and oblivious to the cheers of encouragement from the barflies, she smiled and said "I've been wanting to do that for years."

The End

**Final Thoughts:** The ending takes place after the end of _Fade_ _to Black_ but you don't need to have read that for this to make sense. I had this idea for a reunion between Hayley and Bill in his bar and decided to run with it. As for Shepard's N-ops hazing ritual, I figure any special forces program designed to produce the most absolute badass soldiers would, over time, develop its own unofficial way of 'greeting' the FNGs and making sure they're hard enough. Hence Shepard trying to take Hayley's head off. Also, my vision of Shepard has the Commander slightly unhinged after everything she's seen and done.

As always, thanks to the reviewers and those yet to review. Come on, you know you want to :P  
We now return you to your normal programming.


End file.
